


Beast or Abomination

by Chiyanna117



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon divergence after 10x12, Dean Winchester/ OC, F/M, Long Long Story, Non AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-03-18 05:24:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 39,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3557639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chiyanna117/pseuds/Chiyanna117
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rowan is like no other creature Sam & Dean have ever seen or heard of, though her ability to eat excess emotions makes her handy to have around when Dean loses his cool. But when angels and demon start sniffing around, and Rowan secrets start getting uncovered, will the brothers save her? Or kill her themselves?</p><p>On Hiatus, sorry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ch:1

**Author's Note:**

> DISSCLAIMER: I own nothing, except my OC. 
> 
> I'm so tired of Dean getting screwed over. First he goes to Hell, then Purgatory, then goes demon and back again. So I wanted a story where Dean gets to be happy AND get to do what he does best AND stay with Sam. And what started out as an idea about a girl, and couple of interactions for my own personal enjoyment, started turning into something much bigger. So now here I am, following the urge to share what I have got already and maybe find the inspiration to keep it going till the end. This is my first shared fic, and I don't know how often I'll be able to update because I have little kids and fickle plot bunnies. Bare with me (for I am betaless) and I hope you enjoy.

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The sound of Sam's cell ringing causes Dean to jerk, his head slipping from the precarious perch on his hand and snapping him awake while his his arm falls loosely to the table. A groggy 'huh' escapes his while he looks around for the source of the sound.

 

"Got it." Sam says over his shoulder from the other table as he reaches to grab the cell phone. "Hello?"

Dean listens to the one side of the conversation he can hear.

 

"Oh, yeah. Ok, where?" Sam reaches across his pile of books to grab a pen and some paper. 

“Ok, yeah, can do. Good luck." Sam puts down the phone to look over at Dean. "So, that was Johns, apparently he’s was hunting some vampires over in california. The vamp’s took off out of town and he’s going after them, but he wants us to go and check out a gym he says, and I’m quoting here, ‘has a bad vibe to it’. He was going check it out more after the vamp’s but can’t now that he’s on the move.”

 

“A bad vibe, seriously?” Dean huffs. Sam just shrugs his shoulders.

 

“Yeah, we should really stay here and keep looking through-”

 

“No.” Dean says a little too loud. “I mean, would we call someone else if we didn’t seriously think something was up? We should go check it out.” He continues, trying not to sound too eager to get away from hours of drooling over books that are never going to tell them how to get rid of his mark.

 

“Ok, if you think we should.” Sam turns quickly, with the pretext of closing his laptop, but really he just wants to hides his grin at how fast Dean will run from a book.  
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	2. Ch:2

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“Here, let me hold that.” I say with a friendly smile to the guy who’s taking out some serious frustrations on the punching bag. It’s an 80lb bag and he’s still managing to knock it around till his punches are just rolling off the sides cause its swinging too much.

 

“Yeah, thanks.” he says, never taking his eyes of the bag. He settles back into a rhythmic pace, the kind you use to build endurance, not strength or speed. The average onlooker would never guess the amount of anger he’s pouring into each slow and steady punch. But I’m not an average onlooker, and I could feel the hate coming off him from across the gym. So I braced my back to the bag, feet planted apart and out in front of me for support, while I just leaned back and soaked up the hate. Literally. I would have to find an excuse to go home and maybe even call out tomorrow after this guy. It would take at least a whole day to burn off the emotion, but the energy would keep me going for at least a week, maybe a week and a half.

I know when he’s done before he says anything, the flood of emotional energy has tapered off.

 

So when he steps around the bag to thank me I’m very careful to still be as nice and friendly as I was when I offered to hold the bag for him. Never giving any clue to how bad I suddenly want to smash his stupid, meaty, face into the corner post of the boxing ring behind him. I force myself to walk calmly to Shelly behind the counter and tell her I’m feeling sick and I’m going home. I’m careful not to touch anyone as I had out the door and onto the street.

I only need to make it to the end of the block then I can cut between the buildings and forgo the main sidewalk, and only have to risk crossing 3 streets to my apartment. Fortunately it’s already getting dark outside and the foot traffic is at a lull.

 

Once I get home I can get out my own punching bag and work off the anger till I pass out and hopefully sleep the rest off. I keep my head down and only pay enough attention to people to make sure I don't accidentally bump into someone. As long as no stupid assholes touch me I should be ok. Or talk to me. Or eyeball me. Like I care about their bullshit or something, and the guy on the corner staring at me like I’m a piece of meat at butcher shop is just asking for me to go all the way to the crosswalk and knock his teeth thro-

 

“Hey Miss?” I hear just before a hand touches my shoulder.

 

Just grabbed me! Like anyone has to right to fucking touch me when they don’t even know me. Bastard! I spin around, bringing my fist up as I do, adjusting for his height at the last minute, and catch him right in the bottom of his jaw. Knocking him backwards against the wall of the dinner he was walking out of, snapping his head up. I might have been scared that I just clocked a guy who’s got to be almost a foot taller then me if I wasn’t just so damned _pissed_. Before I can bitch him out though I get tackled. The second guy jumps up, grabbing me by the front of my shirt before a can collect myself, and hauls me up and drags me into the alley around the corner of the dinner. Slamming me into the wall, and causing my head to hit the bricks. That takes a little of the fight out of me, but only a little. If he doesn’t let my arms go I swear I’ll kill him for it. Actually I’ll kill him if he does, so either way it doesn’t end well for him.

 

“Hey, what the hell lady?” says the first guy as he comes around the corner after us.” Dean, let her go.”

 

“Yeah, _Dean_ , let me go so I can finish kicking your boyfriend’s ass.” I sneer at the guy holding me to the wall by my arms. The look he gives me finally breaks through the rage, and it occurs to me that maybe I’ve bitten off more than I can chew when he just growls and lands a clean punch to my temple.

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	3. Ch:3

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Ow. Just Ow. Someone’s put my head in a vice grip and is filling my brain with rusty nails. That's the only explanation. Then the groan I make reverberates through my skull and makes me swear to myself to _never_ drink again. This has to be the worst hangover in the history of horrible hangovers.

 

“Hey there Sleeping Beauty.” comes a voice I don’t recognize.

 

Despite the searing pain in my head my eyes fly open and I jerk back away from the voice only to find that I’m tied to a chair. In a dark room. With a strange man. This is not good. My eyes focus on the face of the guy squatting in front of and my memory comes back to me in pieces. Binging on the angry guy at the gym, trying to make it home before the emotional overflow got the better of me, and failing miserably by trying to take the head off this guys buddy. I only get a second to berate myself for losing my cool over a shoulder tap before Mr. Right Hook is vying for my attention.

 

“So what are you?” he asks.

 

“What are you talking about?” I play stupid.

 

“Well you’re not anything we can think to test you for, but you're definitely not human.” comes another voice from behind me.

 

The guy I’d attacked comes around to where I can see him, sporting little more than a red mark on his jaw where I’d hit him. Then the reality of my position hits me. I’m tied to a chair, in a room with two guys who are asking me _what_ I am instead of _who_ I am. These guys are hunters. I’m so screwed.

 

“Of course I’m human. Your just mad you got your clock cleaned by a girl.” I lie. Maybe I can just bullshit my way out of this. If I can just get them to untie me I can make a run for it. This has got to be a hotel room, it smells like one for sure, so it can’t be to secure.

 

“No, see, you heal to fast to be human.” Right Hook says as he reaches out quickly and cuts my arm with a dagger I hadn’t noticed him holding. Of course its hard to notice much about him past the rather intimidating glare. It stings, and bleeds just a little before the cut starts closing. Well there goes my bullshiting plan. Plan B, be non-threatening.

 

“I don’t hurt or kill people.” I try pleading. They both scoffed at that, probably cause I’d sorta randomly attacked them. “I can explain why I hit you.” I offered.

The big one pulled out a chair from the table he was standing next to, and Right Hook stood up from where he’d been squatting in front of me, backing up to sit again on the bed behind him. Both just stared at me, obviously waiting for my explanation.

 

“I eat emotion.” I started. Maybe I should word that differently. “Ok, eat is the wrong word. You ever meet someone and swear you can just feel the emotion rolling off them? Happiness, anger, lust? Well it does actually kinda work that way. When I meet one of these people I just kinda syphon off the extra. No one gets hurt, or dead, they usually don’t even notice.” I pause for reaction, and get nothing, so I keep going. “The reason I hit you,” I look at Big-n-Tall over sitting in the chair. “is because I’d just left an all-you-can-eat buffet of anger at the gym down the block. What ever emotion I take in will affect me directly for awhile after. I was just really furious and on my way home to sleep it off and you startled me.”

 

When I don’t continue they just look at each other, get up and walk outside. I’m so screwed. I get about 5 minutes to wallow in my mix of pain and fear, trying to decide which is worse, the pain in my head or that I’m about to get killed. When they came back inside Right Hook starts putting stuff in bags, packing up. Big-n-Tall comes over to me, taking the same squatting position as his buddy had earlier.

 

“You never told us what you are.” he says blandly.

 

“I don’t know.” I answered, and even though its the truth I know he won’t believe me.

 

“Ok.” he says as he gets up and goes to help the other guy. He whispers something and Right Hook gives me a look that sends a shiver down my spin. Maybe I’m not the monster in this room. He stalks over to me in just a few quick steps and I only have second to brace myself for another killer right hook to the temple.  
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	4. Ch:4

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This time when the shooting pain in my head woke me up it was accompanied by the memory of the hit that caused it. I jerked awake, my sleepy brain still trying to dodge a blow that was already over with. Once the pain had faded enough for me to open my eyes what I saw scared me. I was again strapped to a chair, but it was a different chair, in the middle of some weird pentagram symbol on the floor. The walls on my left and right were brick, with chains build into them, and one had a utility cabinet with some of the scariest weapons I’d ever seen showing through the glass. The wall in front of me was metal with a metal mesh border along the top, and every inch of the whole room was covered in even more symbols and glyphs. Some looked familiar, I swear I’d seen them before, but most were completely foreign. This was like the start of some low budget occult horror movie.

 

The two guys from the hotel were no where to be seen, but I also couldn’t see the door either so maybe they were just behind me. I tried to say something to see if anyone was there but all the came out was a hoarse whisper, my throat was so dry it hurt. I coughed, swallowed, and tried again.

 

“Hello?” still not much more than a whisper. Damnit! Another try has me coughing uncontrollably, and just when I think I’m going to be sick the metal wall in front of me parts and Big-n-Tall from the hotel is there with a bottle of water. He puts the bottle to my lips and tilts it back so I can drink. I take two big gulps to wet my throat and kill the coughing. It works, and once I calm my breathing I look up at him. Way up.

 

“Thank you.” my voice hoarse now from the coughing. He looks confused but doesn’t say anything just walks back out and closes the metal wall behind him. I could hear voices talking on the other side of the wall, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but it sounded like more then just 2. The voices get louder and start to sound like they are arguing. The next thing I know the metal wall opens up again and a very upset brunet man with shaggy short hair, fierce blue eyes, and wearing a trench coat comes stalking towards me. He’s almost as scary as Right Hook, who’s hot on his heels, with Big-n-Tall bringing up the rear.

 

“See Cass, not an angel.” says Big-n-Tall. I notice all 3 of them stop just short of the edge of the circle I’m sitting in. Its better lit in here and I can actually see my hotel kidnappers pretty good now. Big-n-Tall has layered, medium length brown hair, at it’s longest it brushes his shoulders, and greenish brown eyes that had no problem piercing right through you. Right Hook has dark short cropped hair, a little longer and spiky on top, and big dark green eyes. People are wrong, the cute one’s aren't all gay or taken, they’re half crazy monster hunters.

The new guy is just staring at me, like I’m not what he was expecting and he’s confused. The other two are staring at him, like they are waiting for him to do something.

 

“Have you ever been an angel?” he asks me.

 

“Not that I know of.” I answer as straight faced as I can. The urge to giggle hysterically is almost too much, I mean this is hardly the setting for crappy pick-up lines. He looks over at Big-n-Tall.

 

“She sounds like an angel. Almost.” he says, looking for all the world like he’s just said something that makes sense and is waiting for his buddy’s thoughts on the matter. Big-n-Tall just looks as confused as I am, and finally Captain Crazy decides to elaborate. For all the good that does. “I can hear the sound of grace coming from her, but it sounds odd. I don’t know how to describe to you, and its definitely wrong, but it's also definitely an angel's grace.”

While the sentence makes absolutely no sense to me, Big-n-Tall and Right Hook seem to get something from it cause now they are both eyeing me.

 

“Angel’s can sometimes share a body with someone, but only with permission, and when they leave the host will think it was all a dream. Anything like that?” Big-n-Tall asks me. Wow, Crazy was serious, who knew.

 

“I don’t know, I have no memories before about a year ago. I was in a car accident.” I tell them. “Look, I know we got off on a bad foot. I’ll tell you anything you want to know, promise, but could you let me out of this chair? My back is killing me and if you got some aspirin I would be forever grateful.” I’m not holding my breath, but when they start glancing at each other I hope a little. The last hunter I ran into let me go after I convinced him I wasn’t dangerous, and these guys hadn’t just outright killed me either.

They seemed to come to some kind of silent agreement cause Big-n-Tall walked over and started undoing the straps and clasps that held me to the chair. Once I was free I stood and stretched, my shoulders and knees popping loudly, my back threatening to cramp up. I turned to Big-n-Tall and stuck out my hand.

 

“Rowan Snow.” I introduce myself. I know that they probably don’t care but I’m tired of calling them Right Hook and Big-n-Tall in my head.

 

“Sam.” is all I get. Well that, and a quirked eyebrow. “That's Dean, and that's Castiel.” he points to the other two as he gives me their names.

 

“So, ask away.” I say to them.

 

“Lets go upstairs first.” says Sam. They all turn to walk out through the opening in the metal wall, and I start to follow them but when I get to the edge of the circle on the floor its like walking into a wall. I bounce backwards with a started yelp and land ungracefully on my ass. Everyone else spins around to look and I can’t help but look a little annoyed.

 

“Forget something guys?” I huff at them. I didn’t mean anything by it but now all three of them are glaring at me. “What?”

 

Dean reaches an arm around the other side of the wall and grabs what looks like a flask, unscrews the top and splashes me with whatever is inside.

 

“Hey! The fuck man?” I sputter, wiping the water out of my eyes. As least I assume its water, it doesn’t smell like liquor. They all start talking at once.

 

“Cas, what gets caught in a devil’s trap but is immune to holy water?” Deans says, inclining his head toward Castiel but never taking his eyes off me.

 

“Maybe you should call Cowley, Sam.” Cas says, also staring at me.

 

“We tested you.” Sam says to me. “Tried to exorcise you while you were unconscious. You're not a demon.”

 

“You do not call that son of bitch, Sammy, you hear me?” Dean says to Sam. Once they’ve all stopped talking over each other I add my two cents.

 

“Ok, so we’ve determined that I’m not a demon. That's nice, but I’ve already told you, I don’t even know what I am. So if you're expecting me to explain why I can’t walk out of here you're going to be disappointed.” I tell them while getting back to me feet and pressing my hand against the invisible wall. It’s cold and hot at the same time, I can’t keep my hand against it for long, and despite finding hard to believe that I can see through it like it’s air, it’s as solid as glass against my hand. They all walk out and close the metal wall behind them while I’m still exploring the invisible wall, talking amongst themselves. They’re gone when I look up, so I just lay down on the floor to wait for them to come back. I have no interest in sitting in that chair, not only am I tired of _sitting_ , I can’t shake the stupid fear that if I sit back in it, it will trap me again.

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	5. Ch:5

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It feels like hours before I hear the voices on the other side of the metal wall again, but with no windows, or clocks I really have no idea how long it’s been. In fact I have no idea how long it’s been since the alley. I should really find out, I don’t want my landlord to toss all my stuff.

When the wall finally opens Dean walks in by himself. I stand up, straighten my shirt and walk up to the edge of the invisible wall.

 

“Hi.” I say when he just stares at me and doesn’t say anything.

 

He still doesn’t answer me right away, he just keeps looking me over. I have mixed feelings about this. Part of me wants to be annoyed that he’s just standing there, ignoring me and sizing me up like I’m modeling underwear. Part of me thinks it may be more like watching an animal at a zoo, like he’s trying to figure out what I am or get me to show my true colors and attack the glass, so to speak. And yet another part of me is screaming that I probably look like like a train wreck. I know my hair has dried blood in it from when my head slammed the wall in the alley, the wound healed but the blood is still there, and I know my tank top and jeans are wrinkled and have stains from the alley on them. Despite the mini war going on in my head though I just stand there and wait, the picture of polite patience. Finally my patience pays off and he says something.

 

“If I let you out of there, you gonna attack me?”

 

“No. Are you going to let me go?”

 

“No.”

 

“Are you going to kill me? Cause if you are I think I’d rather stay in here.”

 

“Sam and Cas want to run some tests on you and figure out what you are.”

 

“Do I get to say no?”

 

“Not really.” Well at least he’s honest.

 

“Ok.” I say with a sigh. “Lets do this then.” He takes a few steps forward and pulls the dagger he had at the hotel out of his back pocket. I take a few steps back and eye him, but all he does is squat down at the edge or the ring and starts scratching at it with the blade. Once he’s got a little gap in the paint he stands up, re-pockets the dagger, and motions for me to step out. I have no idea how this thing works so I reach out for the wall, fully expecting it to still be there, but it’s gone. My hand just goes right through where it used to be. Wierd.

 

“It’s magic.” Dean says, making me wonder if I’d said it out loud or if he could just read on my face what I was thinking.

 

“After you.” He just looks at me with an eyebrow cocked and I realize he doesn’t want me behind him. “I don’t know where we’re going.” I say.

 

“I’ll tell you when to turn.” he says, and gestures for me to start walking.

 

A few turns and a set of stairs later I walk into a big room that kinda looks like a library. Bookshelves are inset into the brick walls, and there are back-to-back bookcases taking up most of the _very_ large room. A few large tables sit in the center, and in one of those chairs sits Sam. Castiel and some other guy I haven’t seen before, are standing around him and they look like they are arguing. The new guy is kinda short, short brunette hair with a sharp widows peak, short trimmed full beard, and dressed in a nice suit with a long wool overcoat.When Dean comes in the room behind me and sees the guys standing around he gets mad. About what I don’t know, but I can feel it coming off him when he knocks into my shoulder as he stalks past me to go stand with the rest of the men.

 

When Sam sees him he stands up and puts his hands out like he’s prepared to stop him. The new guy takes and step backwards and to the side, subtly putting the table between him and Dean. I guess Dean doesn’t like this guy. I just stand right where I am, if they are gonna start fighting I don’t want anything to do with it.

 

Sure enough, it doesn’t take long for the shouting to start. I’m too far away to hear the quieter stuff and the louder stuff reverberates and echo’s enough that I can’t make out much. Something about a moose. Dean calling the new guy a son of a bitch, and the new guy yelling something about the King of Hell. Shorty points at Castiel and says something about feathers. I’m so confused its not even funny, and just when I think about interrupting, cause the anger coming off of Dean is is progressing into homicidal, Castiel points at me and the shouting comes to a hault.

 

Now all eyes are on me and I suddenly wish I was still downstairs. Before I can say anything though the short guy just disappears. I rub my eyes thinking I’m seeing things when the sound of a throat clearing behind me makes me jump. I can’t help the little scream that escapes me when I spin around and see Shorty standing right behind me. To top it all, off I trip over my own feet trying to back up and fall flat on my ass.

 

“Skittish aren’t you?” he says with an accent. British I think.

 

“The hell are you doing, Crowley?” Sam says as he and Dean come running to this side of the room. Sam skids to a stop somewhere behind me, but Dean doesn’t stop till he’s standing between me and Crowley. He’s got the dagger out again, but he’s just holding it down by his leg.

 

“She’s not one of mine.” Crowley says, trying to look like he’s not worried about the dagger Dean has in his hand, but I see his eyes dart to it, then Deans face, then back to me.

 

“Can you tell what she is?” Sam asks.

 

“No.” he says, this time looking at Sam. I scoot backwards a little to get room between me and Dean so I can stand up, but my movement catches his attention. He pockets the dagger, turns around and offers me a hand up. I grab his hand and he pulls me to my feet with just the one arm and practically no help from me. By the time he turns back around Crowley is gone, just like last time, and I can’t help the urge to spin around and make sure he’s not behind me again.

 

“So he was no help.” Sam says to no one in particular.

 

“Yeah, no kidding. What else is new?” Dean practically spits before stomping off and leaving me with just Castiel and Sam. When no one says anything after a few seconds the awkwardness gets to me.

 

“So now what?” I blurt out.

 

Sam gives me a look I can’t quite read, and then I remember. Yay, I get to become a lab rat.

 

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	6. Ch:6

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Three or four hours later I’ve learned more than Sam has.

He’s poked me with sticks, literally. All different kinds of wood. Cut me, little ones that don’t hurt much and I heal almost instantly so I don't mind, with a dozen different kinds of metals. Splashed me with stuff, blown powders in my face. He’s had me touch things like black cat’s bones and different plants, even took my picture two or three times. He’s asked what seems like a thousand questions, most of which I have to answer with ‘I don’t know’.

 

I tell him everything I do know though. The car wreck I was in, as a pedestrian according to the reports, where I was slammed into a tree. The hit didn’t to do much physical damage but I was in a coma for several weeks. I had my wallet on me, which had my drivers license, SSN card, $24, and a key it. The license and SSN card identified me as Ivy Rowan Snow, and the key went to the door of the apartment listed on the license. That was all I knew about myself. No one ever came to claim me in the hospital. My apartment had been spartan-like, bed, couch, tv, table with two chairs, and just the standard kitchen stuff that had come with the apartment.

 

It had taken me about a week on my own to discover that I wasn’t normal. I was always hungry, no matter how what or how much I ate. Then came the fever. When I started getting so tired I started passing out I finally went back to the hospital. I ended up sitting next to a lady in the waiting room who’d started crying after about twenty minutes. I’d asked her what was wrong and she’d started telling my how she was waiting to see if her cancer was back. I could almost literally feel the fear and sadness coming off her in waves, see the blue storm cloud she was sitting inside that was her anxiety. But the more she talked to me the better she seemed to feel.

 

I, however, was getting more and panicked the longer I sat there. The stormy aura around her seemed to float over and brush against my skin, soaking into me. Finally as soon as I could politely get away I excused myself and had run all the way, utterly terrified of everything. I’d locked and barricaded myself in my bedroom and had cried myself to sleep. When I woke up the next day I felt great, better than I had since I’d been released after my coma. After replaying the whole thing in my head a few times I realized what had happened. After that it was just a matter of practice. Find an emotional aura, draw it in.

 

The emotion/eating thing was harder to explain. I didn’t really have the right words to explain how I could take emotions and live off of that energy instead of regular food. I also explained that I didn’t have to take emotions to feel them, I just needed the energy to live off of. He seemed to get the gist though, and was a little alarmed when I confessed I could take people’s emotional energy if I wanted. It took me awhile to convince him I didn’t, and I had to explain that I’d taken two different part time jobs just so I would have access to highly emotional people on a regular basis.

 

Only excess emotion flowed outside the body, emotions within a ‘normal’ range stayed inside, and that was how I judged who and what was safe to syphon off. The important part was the strength and the amount of emotion, and the gym was often full of really angry and frustrated, people, but my favorite job was the YMCA youth sports. It was a plethora of any emotion you could think of that might relate to sports or parenting, and was responsible for most of my emotional intake. After I explained how when I’ve fed on an emotion I was affected by it for a time afterwards and that's why I’d attacked him that day on the street.

 

In return for all this Sam explained what he and Dean did, the hunting stuff. I got the short and ugly version, but it made me understand why they had reacted to me the way they did. He told me all about what was going on with the angels and heaven, and I was miffed that I’d couldn’t remember the meteor show that was actually the angels falling. He explained that Crowley is the King of Hell and how that came to be, and told me about how he used Dean to get the Mark of Cain, which had turned him into a demon until recently. I got the story on Castiel, including all the stuff about Leviathan's and the part he played in the issues with the angels. By this point I was just so overwhelmed I thought my head would explode from trying to process it all. I had definitely come out of top of the information trade.

 

I also learned it had been three days since they’d kidnapped me, Sam kinda made a face when I’d called it that, and that I couldn’t go back. This was the third time I’d been made by hunters, including the guy who chased off the vampire that I hadn’t even know about, but I was welcome to stay at the bunker till the guys found a new place for me to settle. Basically translating to: You're gonna stay here till we’re done with you. It was the closest Sam had come to lying to me, and honestly was better than I had expected. After all, I was still alive, right?

 

Castiel is gone by the time Sam calls it quits and takes me on short tour of the place. Basically showing me where I can and can’t go, then drops me off at a sparingly furnished bedroom. It has an attached bathroom with a shower and without thinking about it I strip and hop right in. There’s no shampoo but there is a bar of soap so I wash the blood out of my hair with that, returning it to the reddish-brown that it’s _supposed_ to be, then washing the sweat and fear off the rest of me. I let the hot water beat the kinks out of my back and the steam soothes my head and nerves. When I’m done I half stumble to the bed, pull the covers back and fall it, still wrapped in my towel, and the exhaustion overwhelms me.

 

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	7. Ch:7

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According to the clock on the nightstand its two in the morning when I wake up. I come close to panicking before I remember why I’m in a room I don’t recognize, in a bed that's not mine, wearing nothing but the bed sheets. I go back into the bathroom to get my clothes with the intention of putting them back on till I see them. Now that I’m clean I just can’t bring myself to put them back on. My shirt has blood stains on the back from my head, my jeans are stiff from I don’t even want to know what, and honestly, they kinda smell. But I _really_ want to go check out that kitchen Sam showed me earlier. I had thought the guy from the gym would last me longer, but after the last few days, and especially yesterday, I’m drained. I got a couple of days left then I’m going to need to go find some emotion. In the meantime a sandwich would help, but that means either putting those clothes back on or walking around in nothing but a towel. Of course that meant the same thing if I ever wanted to leave this room again for anything.

 

I’m nothing if not practical, so I took my clothes and cleaned then in the shower, hanging them over the curtain rod to dry. When I was done I took a moment to be proud of myself, for the two seconds it took me to realize that it would take hours for them to dry this way. Great so now its either the towel, or chafing in wet jeans. As a last ditch effort I started rummaging through every drawer in the room, and there weren’t exactly many, but I did find a handful of paper clips. Perfect.

 

I straighten them out and start stabbing them through the towel, using them to tie it closed. It takes about four of them to turn the towel into a make-shift dress. Good enough. I steel myself and walk out into the hallway, ridiculously relieved when no one is there. It is two something in the morning I remind myself as I try and remember how to get to the stairs that will take me up to the main level where the kitchen is. I’m probably the only one awake at this hour. I slip up the stairs, keeping quiet so I don’t wake anyone else up and get caught running around in nothing but a towel. The main level is more open and it’s easier to remember the way to the kitchen. Sam had given me a rough tour after all the poking and I’d made a little map in my head.

 

I pause once I’m there, sparing a quick thought at how it’s odd that a place that looks like it could house a dozen people is only occupied by two guys and their occasional visitor, then beeline it to the fridge. It’s booby trapped. A jar of peanut butter falls off the top as soon as I open the door, bangs loudly to my ears, and rolls underneath the stainless steel island counter in the middle of the room. I jump when it hits the floor but manage to hold back the yelp of shock. I go over and get down on the floor to fish it out so I can put it back on top of the fridge, but once I’ve got it I decide PB&J sounds damn good. I catch myself waiting to hear footsteps, and when I hear nothing I sigh a relief and start rummaging the fridge, hoping to find the jelly. Success! I almost miss the sound of the shotgun getting chambered over the ‘thwump’ of the fridge door closing. Almost. I freeze, my spine just locking up. Mostly out of just sheer fear, but also half expecting the feel of my back being shredded by the shot that will hit any second. But there is no shot, just a rough voice, gravelly, half growling.

 

“Turn around.”

 

I turn, slowly, my hand going out to my sides, palms out, in surrender. I can’t tell who is standing in the door, my eye’s haven’t readjusted to the dark from the fridge light yet, but I can sense the emotion. It pulses off him, almost like a heartbeat, a medley of anger, excitement, and a just a little fear.

 

“Please don’t shoot.” my voice is barely more than a whisper after squeezing through my throat, which is so tight I can hardly swallow. The lights flash on and I turn my head and squeeze my eyes shut out of reflex.

 

“What the hell are you doing in here.” I hear him ask while I'm looking at the floor waiting for my eyes to adjust. It’s not an accusing question, just a curious one.

 

“I was, uh…” my brain falters as I look up and see Dean standing in the doorway, shotgun in one hand, now lowered, and wearing nothing but fleece sleeping pants. I’m not normally one to get dumbstruck, but he made one hell of a sight. Hair mussed from sleep, pants riding low on his hips, and a whole lot of shirtless muscle in between. Even a tattoo just above and left of his heart, although I couldn’t quite make out what it was. “Uh, making a sandwich.” I finally manage to finish.

 

He just stares at me for a minute, probably cursing me for waking him up in the middle of the night and raiding the fridge. Oh God, I’m still in the towel! And now I’m blushing. I turn away before he notices, and face the counter behind me, setting the jelly down next to the peanut butter.

 

“Um, where’s the bread?” I trying breaking the silence.

 

His emotional aura has dimmed and I can't sense where he is anymore. When he doesn’t answer I look over my shoulder. He’s staring at my legs, working his way up. I have nothing on under this towel, and if I flush any harder I’m going to get a nose bleed, my face is so hot I feel like I’ve got a sunburn.

 

“Dean?” I say, trying to get his attention away from the fact that I’m standing in his kitchen half naked.

 

It works, and he kinda shakes his head clear and walks over to a pantry and opens it up. He pulls out a loaf of bread brings it over and sets in down on the counter. I should have backed away, because I knew it was going to happen, and it’s like stealing, but I just couldn’t make my feet move. Now that he’s closer I can actually _feel_ the emotion he’s been putting off since he walked in. Only now it’s morphed into mostly leftover adrenaline and lust, and still just a bit of the anger and fear. The anger and frustration is just a undertone, and I can’t tell if it’s directed at me or not. But I can’t feel it against my skin, it’s like walking into a dense fog, wrapping around my skin and giving me goosebumps. I can’t help the sharp gasp I make, or that my knees go weak, I just can’t. I catch myself on the counter with my hand, managing to stay upright, but just barely.

 

“Hey! What the hell?” he exclaims as he reaches out to catch me by my arms as I start sinking to the floor.

 

He helps lower me down so I’m not crashing to the floor in a heap, and I end up with my butt on the cold tile, my feet on either side of me and my knees together in front of me. At least I’m not being indecent, in regards to my towel, but the way I’m clinging to his arms, I can only imagine what he thinks is happening to me.

 

I can’t help it though, my body is just responding to the need to fill up the energy I’ve used. Even as much as I don’t want to feed off Dean, it’s like being thirsty and sitting in the middle of a river. I’ll never convince them I’m not a monster now. The least I can do is be kind about it, so I focus on the bad emotions, the anger and the fear. The excitement isn’t an emotion and the lust would just be awkward. I can see it in his face when he realizes what I’m doing, and his anger flares. I focus on that, the huge amount of anger, taking that, but I can’t control the flow. Its less like me syphoning and more like him drowning me.

 

“Rowan?” and I can tell there are so many questions behind it, but I can’t answer him. I’m having trouble breathing through the power of his emotions. If most people are like taking an energy drink, Dean is like jet fuel. After what feels like seconds and hours at the same time I’m full, I’ve taken in all I can, and he still has so much more. The guy is like Niagara Falls!

 

“I’m sorry.” is the first thing I say when I’m sure I can. To his credit he actually looks confused.

 

“For what? Are you, ok?” he even sounds concerned.

 

“I tried to only take the bad stuff, I swear, I didn’t mean to.” I try apologizing. He helps me up, even averting his eyes when my towel starts to ride up before I can straighten and tug it back into place. I know he knows what I just did, he has to, and the nicer he is about it the crappier I feel about it. “I was just so low on energy, and you stepped too close, and…” I drift at the end, not sure how to explain it.

 

I had a hard enough time trying to explain it to Sam, and my brain wasn’t half this frazzled then as it is now. One thing comes ringing through though, I need to go back to my room. In a few minutes I’m going to start venting all that anger I syphoned off of him and when it hits I don’t want to take it out on him.

 

“I’ve got to go” I tell him, starting for the door. He grabs my arm and spins me back around to face him.

 

“Hey-” he starts, but whatever he says next is lost as the vertigo takes me down to the floor again.

 

Next thing I know I’m up in his arms, my right arm dangling over his left, my head on his shoulder. His right arm is under my knees and his hand keeps shifting around trying to find a grip to hold me with that doesn’t leave him groping my, barely, towel clad ass.

 

“I don’t know what you did, but if you don’t say anything I’m waking Sam and taking you to a hospital.” I hear him say lightly, but more than that I feel the rumble of his deep voice and it sends a shiver through me.

 

I know I don’t want him to wake Sam, and I’m damn sure I don’t need to go to a hospital. Just the idea of being surrounded by all those people, not knowing what kind of emotional reaction I’m going to have, is enough to terrify me. I try and lift my head, but I’m still reeling and my brain objects to the idea, and my head just kinda rolls on his shoulder. So instead I just try for the speech part, work only works slightly better.

 

“Nhn, no Sam. Just meh room.” I can hear myself slur.

 

I sound drunk, and I know I’m breathing against his neck. I can’t bring myself to wrap my arms around his neck so I tuck my left hand to my chest and my right around his shoulder. Heaven knows what he must think of me, but it’s probably not good. I can tell we’ve reached the stairs because I have to burrow my head into the crook of his neck to keep it from bouncing around as he goes down them. Two at a time by the feel. His right hand finally settles on a spot on my upper thigh so he can hold on to me better going down the stairs, and a hot flush goes through me. What is wrong with me?

 

I’ve never really given much thought about how I would seem to people for being what I am, _whatever_ I am, before now, but at this moment I’m starting to. I have managed to show the worst possible side of myself whenever I’m around Dean, even if it’s all been unintentional and mostly unavoidable. Attacking his brother, me being some kind of monster, the weirdness about the ‘devil’s trap’, freaking out with Crowley, and now this. I’m a fucking shipwreck.

 

Finally Dean stops walking and has to readjust his grip on me to get the door. When his right hand drops to get the knob the part of my thigh he’d had a grip on gets a chill and I realized just how flushed I am, being all pressed up against Dean’s hard, muscled body. I catch myself kind of hoping to feel his hand on my ass when it comes back before the sane part of my brain reminds me we must be at my room and he’ll be putting me down soon. I’m torn between wanting any excuse to stay snuggled up to Deans amazing chest, and the stone cold realization that I’m under the direct effects of the absorbed emotions and need to be locked away till they wear off. Fortunately the matter is not up to me, and Dean carefully sets me down on my feet just inside the doorway. Pausing when he lets go to make sure I can stand on my own.

 

“You ok now?” he asks, a little breathy. Probably from hauling my dead weight down a flight of stairs.

 

“Yes, thank you.” I say as I turn to face him. It’s harder to keep my eyes above his neck then I thought it would be.

 

I gotta hurry and get him out of here. I’m ping-ponging between fear and, apparently, lust, and it’s just a matter of time before the anger shows up. God knows he had every right to want to kill me. Me getting angry would just be the perfect excuse. Just kill me right here and now, get it over with. Although he left the shotgun in the kitchen, so we would have to fight it out, and while I know he would win at the very least I might get to feel him on me again. Maybe even see him naked, I mean there’s not a whole lot of clothing between us right now an-

 

“If you're not better by morning I’m getting Sam.” he says and glances down the hallway, then turns and walks out, closing the door behind him.

 

Mentioning Sam, and hightailing out the door, works like a splash of cold water. Which is good, because I have no right to think about Dean the way I was. None.

 

I flip the light switch next to the door and feel my way back to the bed, crawling back into it, and ripping the towel off me. I didn’t feel like fighting with the paper clips in the dark or getting stabbed by one in the middle of the night.

 

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	8. Ch:8

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This time when I roll over and eye the alarm clock it reads a much more agreeable time. Ten in the morning is late, but beats the middle of the night. I get up and make my way into the bathroom to get dressed. I’m not happy about putting my old clothes back on, they’re still not clean, not really, and stiff from drying over the curtain rod. Except my underwear, as best I can tell I was in those unconscious for a few days and not even soap will make those feel clean again, so I just threw them away. No way in hell am I adventuring back out of this room in nothing more than a towel again though. Oh yeah, I owe these guys a new towel too. Out of curiosity I open the medicine cabinet above the sink and find a new toothbrush and paste, suddenly my morning is a whole lot better. 

 

When I finally get brave enough I make way out and head back towards the stairs again. I remember the way from my wanderings last night and manage not to get lost. I don’t see any sign of the guys till I get upstairs, and they’re both in the library-like room. Sam is at a laptop and making notes on a piece of paper, and Dean is hunkered over a old looking book. Sam looks up at me when I come in through the door. 

 

“Morning.” he greets with a smile. Its infectious and I can’t help but smile back.

 

“Is there coffee?” I ask.

 

“Yeah, kitchen is through there.” he points for me before turning his attentions back to me. I guess Dean didn’t tell him about last night. 

 

I decide not to ask about the peanut butter and jelly I left on the counter and head that way. The kitchen is exactly like it was last night, except the counter is cleared off. Dean must have came back and put it all away. The coffee pot is still gurgling and steaming so it must not have been on for too long and there are no signs that anything has been cooked in here. No smells of toasted bread or dirty dishes, the stove top is still cold. The boys must not have been awake long either. I find coffee mugs in the cabinet above the maker, fish a couple of ice cubes out of the freezer and drop them in before filling it with coffee. I need the caffeine, not a burnt mouth, and I don’t feel like waiting. I’m rummaging for sugar when Sam walks in.

 

“Hungry?” he asks. 

 

“Looking for sugar.” I answer. He gets a confused look so I clarify. “For the coffee.”

 

“Oh, uh, it’s in the pantry.” he says as he walks off in that direction. When he comes back he’s got a jar, with a pour spout, full of sugar. “So how badly do you want to know what you are?” he asks.

 

As soon as I’m done pouring the sugar I turn to look at him again and he’s got a hard look on his face. This is a serious question so I take a few seconds to think it over. This might be my ticket off the crazy train, if they are willing to let me go without knowing what I am, or this might be his way of bringing up more tests.

 

“Well, honestly, that depends. I do really want to know, because, I mean who wouldn’t want to know more about themselves if they weren't normal? But at the same time, I’ve lived for over a year now dealing with my difference and being as reasonably normal as I could, and I could go back to doing that again if that's what it came down too. So, I guess you could say I want to know, but I don’t need to know.” I lean back against the counter and sip at my coffee, watching Sam from under lowered lashes, while he mulls over what I said to see if it answers his question.

 

“Well, here’s the deal. Dean and I got a case to go deal with, and have no idea how long we’ll be gone. Might be a few days, might be weeks. Cas has gone to get your stuff from your old apartment and will be back with it in a couple of days, tops.” he pauses here, I guess to see if I object, and when I don’t he continues. “So if you wanted to make a run for it, no one would be here to stop you. But if you stay you’ll have free access to the bunker and Cas can take you into town and bring you back if you need something. You don’t have the codes to get back in if you leave without one of us.” he says the last bit with a meaningful look and an edge to his voice. Very clearly saying without words: If you try and leave you can’t change your mind.

 

Now it’s my turn to mull. As odd and occasionally embarrassing as it has been the last few days, other than a few killer right hooks from Dean, these guys have been very accommodating. I don’t even really count the knock out’s cause I kinda deserved those, one for hitting Sam first, the other for calling his brother his boyfriend. The lab rat thing was consensual, in that I wanted to know almost as much as the guys had. Hell, it had bordered on being fun watching Sam try everything in his arsenal until he was almost ready to, literally, throw the book at me. Dean had even jumped in between Crowley and me. Granted that probably more to due with his almost violent dislike of Crowley than anything, but hey, I’ll take chivalry where I can get it these days. Castiel was still a mostly unknown element to me, but the brothers thought highly of him, and he is an angel. So…

 

“Ok, I’ll stay. One question though. What happens when people ask about why I disappeared? I mean, at some point someone from at least one of my two jobs is going to ask what happened to me.” I ask.

 

“Cas is posing as FBI and is going to tell your landlord you’ve been put into witness relocation.” Sam replies. Didn’t even have to stop and think about it. They must have planned this out. 

 

I turn and grab another coffee mug from the cabinet and pour a second cup of coffee. 

 

“I don’t want one, but thanks.” Sam says behind me. Which is fine, saves me from pouring a third.

 

“Well if you guys are leaving, then Dean should probably have a cup, cause I think he’s sleeping over that book he’s got.” I say with a smile. It’s a little childish of me to think its funny that I’m the reason Dean is still sleepy and his brother doesn’t know why, especially since the whole event in question was a misunderstanding nightmare, but I just can’t shake the smile. I might actually be losing my mind. I hand the cup to Sam, who’s smirking at my little joke, and he takes it and walks out. 

 

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	9. Ch:9

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Two days. Two, whole, mind numbingly boring, days. If Cas doesn’t show up today I’m outta here. I’ve already explored every inch of the bunker I can get into. Some parts are still locked up but all the important stuff is open. A lot of this place is very old tech and, honestly, I don’t think I even want to know what some of the rooms are for. I mapped out, in my head, where all the places I was interested in were, and can now navigate to anywhere I’m going to want to go without getting lost. My room, the library, the kitchen, and a poorly furnished workout room. Oh, and the laundry room, so now my clothes were at least clean.

 

That was just the second half of the first day, after I’d watched the boys pack up and leave. Day two had been reading, reading, and more reading. I’d read in the library, while I was eating, even doing a couple of miles on the treadmill. As much as I like reading, and I can’t even tell you the amount of stuff I was learning, but not being able to read latin was really putting a cramp in the book choices, and it was pretty much the only thing I could do.

 

So now I’m sitting at about noon on day three, and getting just a little stir-crazy. Well pacing actually. Up and down the stairs at the top of the balcony, the one the guys left through, the one I know goes outside. What I don’t know is what is outside, could be a town, or just a few miles from a town, or could be the middle of no where. Just be my luck I’d step out into the middle of the desert in Nevada or some other less then ideal place, and once I’m out there I have no way to get back in. I don’t have my cell phone anymore, and even if I did, I don’t have the brothers number, and waiting out there for Cas might even be worse than waiting in here. Or I could be having lunch at Burger King in like an hour. Ug!

 

The urge to start tugging on my hair is real, I’d always just thought it was an expression, but I actually want to dig my fingers in my hair and pull till I can make up my mind. So instead I decide on useless dramatics and flop myself onto the giant table with the global map on it and scream my frustrations at the marble roof. My angry roar turns into a shamefully girly screech when the door at the top of the balcony burst open.

 

With the blinding light coming from behind him, probably from the open door, I couldn’t really see who was there, just the dark figure of a man. A man with glowing blue eyes, and I mean neon blue. Before I can reload my lungs I’ve backpedaled off the table and hit the floor, turning what should have been my second round of eardrum splitting scream into a grunt of pain when I land on my back and crack my head on the floor. I was so focused on not blacking out I forgot for a moment why I’d hit my head, till blue eyes show up in my narrowing field of vision, but not neon blue, just regular blue. Castiel.

 

“Rowan, what happened?” Castiel practically growls at me.

 

I can’t answer. My brain won’t tell my mouth to make words. I can feel the itching tingle that means my head is healing. So I just close my eyes and wait it out till I can think straight. I hear Castiel move away from me. When the tingle stops I try and sit up, it’s a bitch, but I manage, the room doesn’t spin much. Next challenge, words.

 

“Cas!” I holler in the direction of the library.

 

I think that's the direction he went, but I get no answer. I use the table as leverage and get to my feet. How did Cas not see the guy that was in the doorway, he had to have come in right behind him. Unless it was Cas. Sam had told me he was an angel and some of the things he could do, no one had mentioned glowing eyes but hey, never hurts to ask. Plus that would mean there wasn’t some strange person loose inside the bunker. I like that theory.

 

“Cas!” I try again.

 

This time I see his head come up the stairs from the other side of the library, but he still isn’t answering me, just scanning the library and looking at me like he’s waiting for something. I don’t want to yell again, it makes my head hurt, so I try and wave him over to me. I’ve got my butt propped up against the big table, and am doing my best to give off an aura of non-threatened, but I don’t think he understands. I’m pretty sure I can walk now, all the tingles are gone so the healing is done. A couple of aspirin and a good hair washing and I’ll be right as rain again. I make the calm, unhurried walk over to where Cas is, watching him relax as I get closer.

 

“If nothing was attacking you, then why were you screaming?” he asks when I get close enough. I guess he finally figured out we were not, in fact, under attack on his own.

 

“I, uh, was bored. And frustrated.” I know its a lame answer, but it’s all I got. And he just lets it go.

 

“Well, then, we should probably go get your stuff out of the truck. I still have to return it before nine tomorrow morning.” he states matter-o-factly.

 

Without waiting for me to respond he starts walking back across the building toward the outside door. I fall into step behind him till we get back to the room with the table, where he just stops, and I almost run him over. He’s looking at the floor, and I’m about to ask why he stopped but I don’t get the chance. Before I can he’s spinning me around, one hand holding me still with a vice grip on my shoulder, and running the fingers of his other hand through my hair where I’d hit it on the floor. After a few seconds he lets me go, I guess after finding no remaining injury.

 

“You know I heal crazy fast, you were there when Sam was doing all those tests.” I say as I turn back around to look at him. But he’s not there anymore, he’s already starting up the stairs to the outside door.

 

“Yes, I remember.” is all he says. Still jogging up the stairs, not pausing till he gets to the door, and only after he opens it, letting in the same bright light as before, does he stop and look back at me. “Are you coming?” Then he’s gone, out the door, just leaving it hanging open behind him.

 

I bolted. I just couldn’t help it, I mean, fresh air and a chance at geographical orientation were more than just compelling. Boy was I disappointed. By the view if not the air. I could literally be standing anywhere. _Anywhere_! A lightly forested area with a run down stretch of road running through it. That's it, not even any road signs in view. Even the front door of the bunker was unremarkable. Just a metal door stuck into the side of a hill slope. Like, part sewer entrance and part hobbit hole. Although that was probably the whole idea. Totally unremarkable and unmemorable, perfect spot for a hide out.

 

My crestfallen feelings only lasted till I walked around the back of the U-Haul truck and into the open storage area and spotted a big box with ‘clothes’ written on it. My squeal of happiness at the sudden thought of fresh clothes made Cas jump from where he was crouched inside the truck moving boxes around. His hand flying into the inside of his coat and coming back out with what kind of looked like a silver stake. I didn’t care, it was all I could do not to grab the box and run, laughing like a madwoman, all the way to my room. I didn’t even care about the look Cas gave me, after he realized that there was again no threat, that was part disapproving glare and part confused. And the look didn’t change when I explained that I’d been wearing the same clothes for almost a week now. Clean, and laundered daily, but still, the same exact clothes. For _days_.

 

Castiel, as it turns out, is a rather thorough kind of guy, he’d even cleaned out my fridge into a cooler and brought that stuff too. My landlord had apparently laid claim to all the furniture in the place, so much for my bedroom set, but honestly I didn’t mind too much. I had everything I needed here, and trying to integrate my stuff might be too weird. I did end up leaving large chunk of stuff in the truck, asking Cas to drop it at Goodwill when he returned the truck. Some kitchen stuff the guys already had, clothes and shoes I didn’t wear anymore, and a lot of the ‘décor’ crap that I had bought over the year to make my place look a little less empty.

 

Cas helped me haul down everything I wanted to keep and even helped put some of it away. Neither one of us knew our way around the kitchen very well, so that was a learning experience for both of us, and turns out I’m a little picky about how I hang and organize my clothes. Cas finally gave up and just started handing me stuff out of the boxes so I didn’t have to walk back and forth so much. Unpacking my bathroom stuff seemed like the perfect time to let Castiel go. I could finish unpacking my personal stuff and jump in the shower right after, I was sweaty and tired of smelling like hotel soap, and I knew Castiel had to take that truck back.

 

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	10. Ch:10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: partial nudity.

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What I hadn’t known, when I’d let Castiel take off, was that he wasn’t coming back. It wasn’t so bad being alone this time though. I officially had my own space, and now that I knew what was outside that front door it didn’t eat at me so much. I figured out how to work the TV set-up too, and that helped, even though I wasn’t a huge TV watcher it was good for background noise. I familiarized myself with the kitchen better, found a latin primer that I read while on the treadmill everyday, and started reading through library again. I didn’t even think about needing to feed till after the first week.

 

I was eating a turkey sandwich when I realized I wasn’t getting any less hungry, it made me really think for the first time how long it had been since the brothers had left, and a chill ran the length of my spine. Eleven days, that had been the last time I’d fed, from Dean, right here in this kitchen. That thought sent a different kind of shiver through me, and sent me to war with myself over whether or not that was acceptable, and effectively pushed out my worry over feeding.

 

I honestly didn’t know much about the brothers personally, Sam had told me a good deal about them when we’d talked, but that was mostly shop talk. I hadn’t got to spend much time with them, while conscious, but I knew they were very close. The idea of one of them settling down without the other just seemed absurd. So, running under the assumption that neither of them was attached, a man still has needs, so the occasional hook-up had to happen, but they struck me as the ‘one-and-done’ kind. I was living with them now. The awkwardness would be unavoidable. Maybe if it was a thing between the three of us we could make it work, but as attractive as Sam is I just can’t seem to get worked up over him. I mean the man makes for some epic eye-candy, and I do mean epic, but every time I try and picture myself in bed with him he turns into Dean. It’s a little weird actually.

 

Dean, on the other hand, now there is some mental imagery that my brain could play with all day. What started out as the memory of him in the doorway of the kitchen that night, half naked and ready to kill, quickly turned into a daydream involving my towel-dress getting turned into a tube-top. Suddenly my, now finished, turkey sandwich was not filling two kinds of hunger. Ugg! Cold shower time.

 

The entire time it took me to clean up my mess in the kitchen and march myself down to my room I repeated to myself how stupid I was being. This was all my own fault, getting worked up for no reason, over something I wasn’t going to get. Didn’t even have any right to want. Dean had shown no interest in me, other then making sure I wasn’t going to kill anyone or die myself, and probably wouldn’t return my interests if I expressed them. I was a monster to him, a _thing_ that fed off humans. Off him.

 

I didn’t wait for the water to warm up at all and the cold spray cut through my thoughts like a hot knife when it hit my back. I squeaked as jumped against the wall of the shower, like the wuss I am, and out from under the spray. It didn’t take long for the water to warm enough for me to start washing my hair and I managed to control my brain for a little while but eventually it got away from me again.

 

Without consulting me first, my mind imagined Dean standing just outside the shower door. Watching me as I arched out to rinse the last of the shampoo from my hair. The barely warm water running down my sides turned into his fingers. Maybe if I just let this run its course I could get it out of my system, women have needs too, after all. So I bumped the water temp up a little, and when I put my back to the nearest wall and let the water trickle down my front, it was Dean’s chest I leaned on and his fingers on my breasts.

 

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	11. Ch:11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Sexual situation/suggestion.

One hour to go till day fourteen. I can’t quite focus on what program is actually playing on the TV in front of me, but it’s got a real-time clock in the bottom corner, a news show I think. At this point I’ve come to terms with the apparent fact that either the brothers are either dead and not coming back, or they’ve grossly over estimated my ability to go without feeding. I know I’m going to die here, now I’m just challenging myself to see how long I can hold out. Like when someone who’s trying to quit smoking keeps track of the time between cigarettes and keeps making the intervals longer and longer. How long can I go?

I was beyond the point of no return before it had even occurred to me to try and take my chances and leave the bunker. At some point I considered the idea that I might have acquired some form of Stockholm syndrome, in the same way one might consider that they've gone insane. It made my head hurt more, so I stopped worrying about it, it wasn’t going to make a difference at this point anyway.

“Ro?”. The sound of my name being shouted barely registered in my jumbled brain, fighting and losing against my consideration of writing down my slow decay for the sake of posterity. To go in the library with the rest of the information on monsters. “Ro?”. Even if no one ever knew what kind of monster I am, at least it would be something right?  How an unknown monster dies of starvation. No, too morbid, no one would want to read that. “ Rowan ?”.  The Rowan monster: How they- Wait, that was Sam’s voice.

“Sam?” I yelled, almost getting louder than the TV. I strained to reach the bottle on the floor in front of me, my body stiff from not moving for so long, intending to use the whiskey to wet my throat. It burned, but got the job done. “Sam!” my voice had some volume to it this time, and sure enough I heard footsteps coming my way in no time.

Wait, no, this was bad.

“Sam! Don’t come near me.” I shouted.

Pulling myself around to see the doorway, I saw Sam as he sprinted through the door, and fortunately for him, stopped dead in his tracks. Good thing too, cause I was poised and ready to throw this bottle at his head if he came anywhere near me. But he didn’t, he didn’t even say anything, he just stared at me. I knew what he was starting at too. I’d checked myself out in the mirror after my latest shower a few hours ago. I’m too pale, my blue eyes bloodshot with dark circles under them, my hair a tangled mess. Wearing nothing but a black sports bra and matching boy shorts to help combat the fever induced temperature swings. Sitting on my knees on the couch holding a nearly empty bottle of whiskey I probably looked, to him at least, like I’d been on a bender.

“I’m starving Sam, and if you get too close to me I don’t know what will happen. I’ve never gotten this bad before.” I explained. His expression changes to something I’m too out of it to read, but he’s not trying to come near me so I’ll take the win.

“What can I do?” he asks softly.

Huh. Now that  is the question of the hour isn’t it. Now that they were back, is there any way they could help? Or am I too far gone?

“Sam? Didja find her?” I hear Deans voice ring out. The voice that's been haunting my fever dreams.

I sink back till I’m sitting on my feet, my legs unable to hold me up any longer, a chill riding up my spine and setting off another round of fever chills. Dean. I don’t want him to see me like this, exposed as the monster I am. Maybe this is my way out though, just letting Dean put me out of my misery. Just let him put a silver bullet through my heart from the safety of the doorway, like he almost did back in the kitc-.

“What?” Sam asks, seeing my eyes go wide. “Should I go get Dean?”

That's it, Dean. That night in the kitchen I hadn’t fed off him so much as his emotional storm had punched its way down my throat and almost drowned me. If I was going to feed off anyone and them survive, it would be Dean.

“Yes.”, and before the word had finished leaving my mouth Sam had turned around and was almost through the door. “Sam!” I called, barely catching him before he was gone. He turned to look at me again and I caught his eyes with mine, as clear and lucid as they had been in days, and demanded with them that he understand. “But make him mad. I mean frothing at the mouth pissed.”  

He nodded and was gone, leaving me only able to hope he understood. I heard a loud bang, and Dean shout out for Sam again. Then nothing. After a few minutes passed the spark of hope, that I might survive this after all, started to dwindle. I tried standing up, to what end I don’t know, but it didn’t go well. My legs gave out and I tumbled to the floor, losing the whiskey bottle when my hands shot out to catch me before I face planted the carpet, and I landed on my hands and knees. I can’t even walk anymore, great. I lean against the couch and set my ass down on the floor, curling my legs around me.

My skin prickles suddenly, like how you might get goose bumps right before a storm rolls in, some internal instinct shouting out a warning, and I see Dean walk into the room. Dark boots, blue jeans, black tee under dirty denim overshirt, silver dagger in hand, and green eyes cold and hard. A small bubble of ‘royally pissed’ boiling around him. Absolutely perfect. But as soon has his eyes lock onto me it starts to dissipate.

“Friggin awesome.” he grumbles, spitting it out like a curse.

His eyes soften before he shoots a look over his shoulder at Sam, who’s just standing in the doorway watching, and I know without seeing they are exchanging information somehow. He holds the dagger out to Sam, handle first, and once he’s disarmed he sits down on the end of the couch closest to him. He closes his eyes and lets his head fall back, eyes closed tight, his face set in a grim expression I’m not sure how to read. Sam does apparently does though cause he just kind of nods at Dean, who doesn’t see, and walks out of the room.

I have no idea what the hell just happened, and I can’t really spare the brain power to work it all out, because every ounce of mental capacity I can still control is focused on keeping my ass glued to the floor. I  will  not jump Dean. Some part of me says he preparing himself for something, probably breaking my neck, and if I going to die I’m going to do it with all the human dignity I can muster. So to say I’m surprised when he suddenly opens his eyes, reaches over and grabs me by the arms and yanks me up onto the couch and into his lap, is the understatement of the year. I find myself straddling his lap, tucked against his chest, his arms wrapped around me, and his chin on top of my head when he speaks.

“You’re shaking so hard you’re damn near vibrating.”

“Holding back.” I choke out, unable to hide the strain in my voice.

“Well then don’t. What’s your flavor?” he asks.

His rough voice low is and almost ‘unsure’ sounding, but I know exactly what he means. I can feel a well of emotions inside him, just under my fingertips, waiting for him to choose one and feed it till it spills out of him and onto me. Just like I know which one is already the strongest, the most eager to start the flood.

“Anger.”

And just like that the dam breaks. Deans anger punching out of his skin and wrapping around us like a blanket is almost more than I can handle right now. Almost. It’s like cool water to a parched throat, aloe to a sunburn, and clothes fresh from the dryer on a cold day all rolled into one. I hear myself gasp, and feel Deans arms tighten around me to try and stop my shaking. I can feel the energy sinking in, filling the emptiness in me, making my skin fit right again and my mind clear. I breath a sigh and give one last shudder before going still, finally able to relax as the pain I’ve been drinking away eased, and I’m suddenly hyper aware of every part of my body.

I can feel how warm Dean is underneath me, despite the clothes between us, and his hands have dropped to my hips. Holding me firmly in place, his head has fallen back against the couch, and his face is set in a hard, grim expression. My head is clear of the fog from before although now I just out-right can’t focus, it’s like my mind is too busy paying attention to my body to do any thinking, but I can still tell something is off. This isn't like before, back in the kitchen when his emotions were free and wild, this is a strictly controlled effort. I can tell he’s concentrating, forcing himself to be angry, and I’m afraid it might hurt him.

“Dean?” I whisper, almost sounding pleading.

He flinches when he hears my voice and opens his eyes to look at me. He loses his concentration, the change is instant, and I can’t help the gasp of shock that escapes me when lust floods in with the anger. The two combining and running across my skin like velvet, giving me chills. I can’t even imagine where he had to go in his head to get to this level of controlled anger, but the look in his eyes is predatory. Hungry. And here I am, nearly naked and straddling his lap, and he knows it.

His hand on my hips clench and drag me farther up his lap, till I can feel his erection through his jeans against my thigh. A noise somewhere between a purr and a growl rumbled up from his chest, and his head falls back against the couch again, eyes shut tight. A new rush of anger swells, drowning out the lust, and I just know that now he’s angry with himself.  This is wrong, he’s warring with himself, and its all my fault. I want him too though, he just doesn’t know it, I have been for awhile now. For the last few day he’s been nearly all I think about.

I feel him shift under me, trying to relieve some of the pressure built up behind his zipper, and I use his motion to grind against him a little. I want to gauge his reaction, test the water so to speak, see if he’ll let me give us both a little relief. His whole body tenses up, and while that's not an invitation, its not a ‘no’ either. So I keep going, running my hands up under the hem of his shirt, seeking out the skin of his abdomen, grazing my fingernails across to his ribs and back down as close to his hips I can get. The tendons on his neck are tight, his jaw clenched, and he now has a death grip on my hips, but still no ‘no’.

His emotions just won’t balance out, the lust is dominant now, but he’s still trying to fuel the anger and its punching out in bursts, and I’m still absorbing everything he’s pushing out. Maybe that's why I’m doing this, his lust affecting me, but not likely. Nor his anger for some reason. Either way, I’m still feeding and he’s just torturing himself over what he’s feeding me, which isn’t fair. If he knew the fantasies I’ve been having about him over the last few days he probably wouldn’t have even come in the room with me. If anything he’s the victim of things outside of his control, though not for a lack of effort on his part, and I’m nothing if not considerate.

I shift my body, using my feet to hook over his knees and pry his legs apart, and then sliding down to the floor on my knees in between them. His hands slide up my sides catching in my hair as I go to unbutton his pants, forcing my head to tilt up so I’m looking up at his face. An emotion that’s not quite panic bubbles up.

“Rowan, stop.” his voice is firm, but I can feel the slight tremor in his body.

“Why?”

“This isn’t you, it’s me. I’m doing this to you.” his eyes leave mine.

I can tell he’s bracing himself for me to come to the same realization and flip out on him, but I’m working on a whole different realization. I’m done feeding. I felt the bubble of panic, I can feel all the other emotions he’s giving off now that his concentration’s broken, but I’m not drawing them in. I’ve got no reason to keep him here if he doesn’t want to be, and what's worse is I don’t have the words to tell him that while ‘ yes ’ he is right, he’s also wrong.

“Does it matter if I say that I want to?” I ask instead.

“Not really.” he shakes his head, still not looking at me.

“Fine. I love cold showers anyway.” I huff and get to my feet.

I’m still wobbly but I stay up, and when he extends a hand to help steady me I step away. I’m not mad, despite all the anger I’d just eaten, but I want him to know that I’m in full control of myself. His emotions are all dimmed, tucked away back inside him and out of my line of sight, but I can still see the self loathing creep into his face. Not what I want. So I reach out and touch my hand to his cheek, tilting his head and making him look at me, and dropping my hand away once I have his eyes again.

“Thank you.” I tell him, willing every ounce of sincerity I have into those two words. Demanding that they make him understand that he did absolutely nothing wrong, and that I’m grateful for what he did do. Except the cold shower part, but hey, let’s not aim for complicated.

“Yeah.” he mutters and drops his head to rub at the back of his neck.

I walk out of the room, there’s nothing more for either of us to say, and make my way to my room. I’m so busy distracting my mind from all the things I want to walk back into that room and do to Dean, that I almost walk right past Sam sitting at one of the tables in the library.

“All better?” he asks, looking up from his book.

He blushes when he realizes I’m still basically walking around in my underwear. The temptation to find out if he will actually, spontaneously turn into Dean if I take him to bed is almost irresistible. Even if he doesn’t, and let’s be real here shall we, it still might be fun. But that's Dean’s lust talking not my own, and I  do know the difference.

“Yeah.” I smile at him, “A c-, shower and a nap and I’ll be right as rain.” If he notices my slip he doesn’t show it.

“Nap? It’s almost midnight.” he quirks his eyebrow at me.

“Oh, wow. Really?”. He just nods at me. “Oh, well, I’ll see you guys in the morning then. Night.” I call over my shoulder as I head down the stairs.

I hear, more than see, Sam get up and move toward the direction I’d come from, probably to go check on Dean. I just hope I’m still welcome here come morning.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If these chapters are getting too long just let me know and I can split them up more. Plz comment and tell me if you like/hate it. Feed my plot bunnies :)


	12. Ch:12

It’s refreshing to wake up and stretch out in your bed and not be immediately assaulted by aches and pain. I feel better than I have in days, full of energy and happy to bounce out of bed. I’m refueled, freshly showered, and ready to start my day, even if it means getting kicked out. I change into my most comfy thongs, slide into my favorite pair of snug fitting white-wash jeans, a supportive black bra and black wife-beater, and put my hair up into a ponytail. If I have to repack all my shit and move today, might as well be prepared.

I know why I’m in such a good mood. I feel a little like the energizer bunny, and while I am a little guilty about it, I also know it’s half their fault and I’m not gonna beat myself up over it. I take the stairs two at a time, just because, and turn into the empty library. The brothers are nowhere to be seen, so I make my way to the kitchen for a cup of coffee, and there’s no sight of them in there either.

I don’t see or hear either one of them till after my morning run-n-read in the little gym room. When I come back into the library to return the book I’d been reading that morning Sam is at one of the tables with his laptop. My overly happy, bouncy, morning high is gone and I debate for a second whether or not to interact with him or just retreat back to my room. He spots me before I can make up my mind though.

“Morning. How ya feeling?” he asks. No anger or awkwardness, so, so far so good.

“Good. How’s Dean?” I blurt before I can think better of it. Elephants do take up so much space.

“He’s… Well, he’s Dean, so who knows, but he’s ok.” he answers, doing that head tilt thing he does when he’s not sure about something but tries to give the best answer he has.

“Good.” I say, and I hear the relief in my own voice. And queue the awkward silence, cause now I don’t know what to say. Do I apologize, or get mad at them for being gone so long, or do I just let it drop and pretend it didn’t happen?

“So.” Sam starts, pushing a chair out with his foot and closed his laptop. An obvious invitation for me to sit down, so I do. “ So, Dean and I are going to get you a new cell so this never happens to you again. Or, we can get you set up in another town if you don’t want to stay here anymore.”.

I can tell he’s upset over what had happened with me, his face practically screams ‘apologetic’. I know he feels bad about the state I got to while they were gone, and probably blames himself for it. As much as I want to be mad at them, I just can’t, not with the sad puppy face I’m getting.

“If you guys will have me I’d like to stay, but a cell would be nice.” I smile, trying to soothe the stress on Sam’s face, and it works.

The tension drains from him a little and he smiles back at me.  We start chatting about the stuff I did while they were gone and the case they worked. Which apparently turned into two cases, they caught a second one on the way back, and that's why they were gone so long. He’s happy and excited about me teaching myself Latin and all the reading I've been doing. We talk for what seems like hours about the books here in the library, and he tells me about the file room downstairs and about some of the crazy stuff down in the storage rooms.

We’re talking about Oz, because apparently it's real, when Dean comes walking in from the war-room. He’s looking down at the phone in his hand and doesn’t see me, and Sam is looking at me because we were talking and doesn’t see Dean, but I see Dean and my words die in my mouth because suddenly my heart is in my throat. All the apprehension I thought I didn’t have comes rushing in and I have the incredible urge to bolt and hide. The impending moment where we have to interact, and silently remember what happened between us late last night, is like a punch to the gut. Which gives me an idea to avoid the look on Sam’s face, which is both slightly confused and mostly curious, after following my gaze over his shoulder and to Dean.

“Hey, you’re here. Just in time for me to go make some lunch.” I say, with a smile and fake cheer, as I jump up and look anywhere but at either of them.

I beat feet past Dean, both glad and nervous when neither says anything, and head straight for the kitchen. I’m not hungry, and I’m not sure what the guys prefer, but burgers seem like a safe bet. Going through the motions of cooking, or cleaning, has always seemed to help my brain work through stuff it would otherwise stutter over, and that holds true now. I know I’m going to have to face Dean eventually. I can’t avoid him forever, and I don’t want to, but the idea of having to talk about last night in front of Sam was about to send me into an anxiety attack.

Cooking was doing the trick for my nerves, working out my anxiety with my hands, letting me run through a half dozen scenarios in my head about what to say to Dean. By the time I had the two burgers plated with a side of Funyuns I was calm again. My plan to get Dean by himself and how to work out the awkward situation we had found ourselves in, and finding out what he wanted to tell Sam, firmly in my mind. Until I got to the door of the kitchen that is. Just before I walked out into the hallway I heard the guys voices, talking in loud whispers.

“I don’t understand, Dean, how is that a bad thing?”

“We don’t understand anything about this thing, what it might be doing to her, what _I_  might be doing to her.”

“If she can help take away these, I don’t know, urges or whatever, that the mark gives you then I say that's a good thing.”   

“So what, Sammy, we just use her to feed off me? Keep her locked up here, only feeding her my crazy? How is that any better?”

“That's not what I meant.”

“Well, then what did you mean, Sammy, cause I’m not gonna use her like some magical ‘get out of jail free’ card.”

“Maybe, if we just asked her about it, she’d be ok. She wants to stay, Dean, I already asked her.”

“No, Sammy, just no.”

“Don’t I get a say?” I ask as I round the corner.

I don’t like eavesdropping, it’s an invasion of privacy, and therefore makes me feel guilty, but I’m a little glad I’d overheard this and had a chance to interrupt. It sounded an awful lot like Dean was going to try and kick me out, despite the possibility that I might be able to help him somehow.

“How much of that did you hear?” Sam asks, finding his voice before Dean.

“Well I came in on the part about asking me something, and that I wanted to stay and,” I gesture at Dean with one of the plates I’m holding, “you want me to leave.” I lie. Not sure why that’s what I choose to focus on, probably the guilt. “What parts did I miss?”

Dean had the decency to look ashamed at my accusation, dropping his face and looking down at the floor. And while Sam looked guilty, probably at being caught, he didn’t clam up like his brother.

“It’s not like that.” he says, but after that he’s at a loss for words. Looking to Dean to explain.

I back into the kitchen and set the plates down on the island counter, my arms are getting tired, and standing in the hallway just holding them seems dumb. The brothers follow me in, Dean pulling a stool over to the counter near where I set the plates down and looking like he’s going to start eating. I don’t mind, that’s why I’d cooked after all, but Sam elbows him in the shoulder and tilts his head at me while giving Dean a face that can only be described as ‘bitchy’.

“I said no, Sam.”.

Dean doesn’t even look up from the plate before he starts in on the burger. Wisps of determination are coming off of him like steam from a hot body in a cold room.  Clearly, he’s done talking. Which I guess means I have my answer. Sam may want me to stay, but Dean doesn’t. His reasons may be stupid, but their clean, and I’m not pushy. Sam’s heart is in the right place, wanting to lead Dean to a possible solution, but Dean’s not drinking. And I, as the water, am not going to jump into his mouth. Although on the heels of that thought comes a, only slightly unwanted, flash of something I just might want to do with Dean’s mouth, and I can feel my cheeks start to burn.

“Well, I guess that settles it then. I’ll go start packing.” I say, queuing my own exit.

Just before I walk out the door and leave a slightly stunned, and rather disgruntled, Sam with nothing else to do but decide whether or not he’s going to eat that other burger, one last thought occurs to me. I think I know what they what they were talking about before I overheard them, but for the sake of pursuing all possibilities, I ask anyway.

“Just out of curiosity, what was the question though?” I ask.

Sam’s head snaps up, and he looks at me, like he knows I’ve just thrown him the last lifeboat on a sinking ship. He takes a side step away from Dean, putting some distance between them, like he thinks Dean might actually jump up and physically stop him from saying the words. But Dean just sits there, head hanging, looking for all the world like he doesn’t care.

“Are you having any bad side effects from feeding off Dean?” his voice is hesitant, like he’s not sure he worded the question right, but he doesn’t elaborate.

I knew, kinda, that this was it, the source of most of Deans inner turmoil. His fear that he was, in some way, hurting me. Poisoning or tainting me with the mark. Which worked like steroids on his… well, everything. Up to, and including, his emotions apparently, and therefor would get into me through my feeding. But when I’d thought about it in my head the question had been ‘does it have an affect on me’, and the answer had been yes. It left me feeling like I have rocket fuel in my blood and with almost no additional emotional baggage. Sam’s question is different though. So what about the answer?

“No, actually, I’m not.” my voice mirrors the little bit of surprise and confusion I have going on in my head as my own realizations come spilling out of my mouth. “I don’t get the anger. I mean, usually whatever I take the most of is the emotion that affects me afterward, and the times I’ve fed off Dean, that's the emotion I take the most of, but I don’t feel it afterwards. I get the other stuff instead, always. And even those are, I don’t know, less intense. On my end. More controllable...” I hear myself drift off.

I know I’m rambling, but most of this is stuff I’m just now realizing, and it’s not even going through a filter before it’s spilling out of my mouth. I don’t know what kind of expression my face is wearing, I can’t really be bothered with wondering how that information came off to them, or what they might be thinking. I’m still trying to process it all myself. And somewhere my mind recognizes the Sam is giving me a strange look, part sympathy and part curiosity, like he knows a dam in my brain just broke and I’m trying to deal with the flood. And at some point Deans back straightened up, and now he’s turning his head to look at me, and I’m not ready to add his reaction to the list of things trying to take priority in my head. So I bolt.

 ****  
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	13. Ch:13

 

A near boiling hot shower has never failed me in the past, and this time is no different. The heat relaxing, the heavy steam forcing me to breathe calmly. I can work through all the thoughts raging in my mind like this, sorting them in regard to what's important and what's just just random speculation, without my bodies physical reactions getting in the way. Like when you flip a shark over on it’s back.

 

It’s important that I  can have some control over the after effects of my feeding, but that I’ve been going all this time not even bothering to try really is just useless information. Nothing I can do about wasted time. The fact that Dean is the only person that I’ve had this effect with is mostly irrelevant in the grand scheme of things because I’ve always just assumed it had to be that way. I feed, I lose control, I sleep, I go back to normal. Rinse and repeat. Honestly I should have noticed the first time, I knew the anger should have come, but it didn’t and I’d just let it go unnoticed. Granted there had been other, slightly awkward, things going on both times. Hindsight can be such a nagging bitch. 

 

Still though, now I had something to look forward to going out on my own again, the possibility that I might be able to control myself after feeding. It was something I could resolve myself with, and gave me the determination to stand up and turn the water off. The whole bathroom was steamed up like a sauna, and honestly, made me wonder how long I’d been in here untangling my grey matter. My towel hanging on the wrack next to the shower was damp, but still got the worst of the water off my body and out of hair. Opening my door to find Dean sitting on the edge of my bed made me damn glad I’d wrapped up in it too.

 

I had just a second to take in his presence. The wisps of determination are still floating off him, like they had been in the kitchen, but his posture was that of defeat. The two giving the impression of someone waiting for a punishment they knew they deserved and were patiently waiting for it to be handed down. As soon as he looked up at me though all that was gone, replaced by stiffening of his body as he stood up, and a complete lockdown on his emotions.

 

“You don’t have to go.” his rough voiced is clipped. Giving me nothing to go off of. “Unless you want to.” he added when I didn’t respond fast enough.

 

“What changed your mind?” I have to ask. 

 

“Sam. He told me you said you wanted to stay, even after everything, and informed me I’m  being an ass.”

 

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell him.” I’m glad I’m already flushed from the shower, hopefully he can't see the blush.

 

“Tell him what?” he gives me that questioning look he gets when he’s get caught off guard.

 

“You know, what I tried to do to you, after…”I trail off, not able to keep looking at him, and fighting the urge to go hid in the bathroom. “I promise, now that I know it’s possible, I’m going to do better about controlling myself.” and that promise I can look him in the eye for. I mean it.

 

“Uh, about that.” he was flustered now.  Great, I’d gone and made shit awkward. “How often do you need to feed?” he asks looking like he changed his mind at the last minute. “Cause Sam and I can be gone for a long time when we get a case.”

 

“It varies. Why don’t I just go with you?” I asked. Just as a idea, and mostly to just change the subject, but his eyes went wide and he got this look like I’d just suggested he start wearing sweater vests.

 

“No way. Uh-uh.” he said, shaking his head. “What we do is dangerous and you're not trained. Plus Sammy and I work better by ourselves.”

 

“Oh no, I’ not asking to hunt with you. I’m no fighter, I know that. Just let me ride along if you’re going to gone on a long one. I make a decent lie-detector.” I say, hands up in surrender, but offering the up the thought for consideration. “Let me get dressed and we can ask Sam what he thinks. Ok?”

 

I can see the gears in his head turning, and he just nods and makes for the door. Once he’s out and the door safely closed behind him I make quick work of getting dressed. Black yoga kapri’s and a lime green tank top. The clock on my nightstand tells me I was in that shower for almost an hour and a half, and in about two hours I can start cooking dinner if this conversation with Sam goes south and I need to do some productive venting. I don’t exactly have high hopes, but it was something I’d thought about during my time alone here, going with them on their hunts. 

 

I wasn’t kidding or being modest when I told Dean I’m no fighter. I’m not, a couple of well meaning guys at the gym had tried to teach me some of that self defense stuff, I was terrible at it. All the fighting skills of a wet kitten, that’s me. I’m good at reading people though, obviously, and I’ve been trying to study up on all the stuff the guys have in the library. I might sway Sam with the simple offer of a research buddy. So, dressed and with my hair put up, I pad barefoot up into library. 

 

Sam is facing away from me, Dean hovering over his near his shoulder, neither one sees me come in. Its not eavesdropping if I’m standing out in middle of a room and they just don’t see me, more like them just talking and ignoring me.

 

“Took you long enough.”

 

“Yeah, well. You're right, she wants to stay.”

 

“So where is she?”

 

“Getting dressed.” Dean slides into the chair next to Sam. 

 

“Wait, what? Dean!” Sam snaps his head around to glare at his brother in disbelief.

 

“What? No, no, man. I just, she wa-”

 

“Well, at least that explains what took you so long.” Sam huffs a smile and returns his attention to his laptop. 

 

“He was waiting for me to get out of the shower.” I cut in, because someone has to defend my honor, and Dean is looking too dumbstruck at his brother. Both of them spin around in their chair to look at me. “And now he’s supposed to be telling you about an idea I had, not trying to defend us from your dirty mind, Sam.” I turn the tables, and thoroughly enjoy the flip-flop of expressions. 

 

Now Dean gets to have the ‘haha, I win’ smile and Sam looks like he just got accused of sneaking cookies before dinner. There would never be any denying these two are brothers. Sam opens his mouth, to defend himself most likely, but I just wave away whatever he was going to say, with a smile, as I walk past them and to other side of the table to sit down. Sam closes his laptop so he can see me

 

“So how would you feel if I started coming with you guys on your hunts?” I direct my question at Sam and he immediately throws another ‘bitchy’ face at Dean. Like Dean’s the co-conspirator on the worlds worst joke. “Not to fight or anything.” I cut in before the sibling squabble can start and redirect Sam back to me. “Just so that I’m not stuck here for weeks by myself again.”. That takes all the fight out of him, or at least most of it.

 

“What we do is dangerous, and you’ve got no experience or training, and-”

 

“Do you two practice that speech or something?” I cut him off, glancing at Dean. “Cause that the same thing he said.” I say looking back at Sam and pointing at Dean. “It’s freaky.”

 

“Cause it’s true.” is all he says. Then he turns on Dean. “Wait, you mean you already had this talk with her and it still got this far?” 

 

“She’s hard to argue with when all she’s wearing is a towel.” he leans back in the chair, getting a quirked eyebrow from Sam, and crossing his arms over his chest. My turn again.

 

“Look, Sam, seriously, I don’t want in on the fighting. You can have it. I’ll stay in the car, or hotel or whatever. I can help with research, and like I told Dean, sometimes I make decent lie-detector.” Now its my turn to lean back and cede the floor to Sam. 

 

He just sits there though, thinking it over in his head. Finally he just looks over at Dean and they start doing that thing where they talk with their eyebrows. Apparently I make a good argument even wearing regular clothes. I have to cough to cover the chuckle at that thought.

 

“So you two talk it out, and I’ll go grab a couple of beers.” I say getting to my feet.

  
__________________________________________________________________________


	14. Ch:14

In the end there had been two conditions. One: I memorize an exorcism spell, the angel expelling rune, and I carry a gun or knife with me at all times. Two: I learn how to use said weapons. Dean was going to teach me the weapons stuff, later. Sam took care of the lore stuff, most of which was easier than he thought it would be for me to learn, first. I’d been doing a lot of reading lately. We covered the basics of how to kill/repel the more common monsters, and what I should do if I came across any of the less common, which was basically  run . 

“So, half the stuff that could kill me is rendered useless by salt, and the other half by fire. That's basically what your telling me.” I ask jokingly. 

“Basically.” Sam smiles, sharing my joke. “And these are the runes you need to memorize.” he says sliding a couple sheets of paper across the table to me. 

He’s obviously drawn them out and labeled them himself. His handwriting giving each rune a name and if needed a small description of what it was for, and if it had special requirements. Like ‘Angle Bomb’ would ‘banish any nearby angel’ and ‘must be drawn in human blood, activated by pressing palm to the center’. Most were self explaining though, like the warding ones and the Devil’s Trap. That one I knew intimately, I’d made it a priority to learn about it during the first few days by myself. Still didn’t know why it applied to me though. The angel ones made my eyes hurt though, like trying to focus on something while wearing glasses that belonged to someone else. I’ll do those last.

“What’s this one?” I ask, pointing to what looked like a pentagram inside a sun. It was at the bottom of the page and the wording was scrunched so I couldn’t quite make it out.

“Anti demon possession. Dean and I have them tattooed.” he says, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt and tugging it to the side. 

Exposing a gorgeous chunk of his upper chest, his entire collarbone all the way to his shoulder and most of his left pec, is a side effect of him showing me the tattoo. Which is an exact match to the one Dean has. I hope that if he noticed my eyes go wide he thought it was due to the tat and not the instant mental visual of him completely topless. These two are going to be the death of me. I have to duck my head down to hide my sudden blush. 

“Nice.” I manage in an appreciative yet steady voice.

Sam’s attention goes back to his laptop and I get a reprieve to regain control of my brain. Without my permission it was off on a tangent involving Sam and Dean strutting around the bunker topless, complete with wet hair dripping beads of water down chiseled abdominals, and completely ignoring my attempts to force it to focus on the runes I’m supposed to be committing to memory. Why were they dripping wet? I have no idea. Fortunately before my mind ran off with all my dignity Dean’s voice sounded from the stairs behind me. 

“You girls done up here?” Dean called out, earning him one of Sam’s bitch faces before he went back to whatever he was looking at on the laptop.

“Yeah.” Sam huffed. Even I could hear the distraction in his voice.

“Whatcha got?” Dean asked walking over and around to stand behind Sam.

“Might be a case.” 

“Well, better get moving then, Ro. If you wanta come with.” Dean said glancing up at me and gesturing towards the stairs.

I jump up and make a break for the stairs, knowing Dean will follow, not bothering to conceal the spring in my step. I don’t know why I’m so excited to embarrass myself but there is just something alluring in the idea that I’m going to learn how to use a gun. I indulge the mental visual of myself as Milla Jovovich from Resident Evil, sexy outfit and knee-high boots, wielding a shotgun and roundhouse kicking monsters in the face. I know its total bullshit, but a girl can dream, right?

I make it to the bottom of the stairs before I realize I have no idea where I’m supposed to be going. Fortunately Dean was in fact right behind me, and brushes past me when I hesitate. He doesn’t even pause his gait and I fall into step behind him as we wind our way through the hallways and finally to a door I’ve never been through before. Dean has a key and uses it to open the door, then disappears inside. When I walk through the lights are still flickering to life and I stop dead in my tracks. I was expecting maybe a kind of armory, to pick up some weapons before going outside, or even another gym-like room to prove just how bad I am at hand-to-hand. But this? This was  not what I’d imagined. Because  of course the bunker had an indoor gun range, this place has freaking  everything ! 

“Wow.” was all I could manage as I took in the scope of the room. 

The part of the room we had walked into was blocked off from the rest by a waist high counter, with thin wall at regular intervals giving the impression of lanes, and the far wall had targets shaped like the upper half of a body on posts. On the countertop for the second lane lay two handguns, and on a rolling table against the other wall were a rifle of some kind and the fantasized shotgun. 

I walked with Dean to where the handguns were and he picked one up and handed it to me, butt first. Honestly, I’ve never held a gun, that I know of, and it’s heavier than I expected. I almost drop it when Dean lets it go into my hand, but it’s a solid weight and well balanced, so I recover quickly. Dean notices and just shakes his head, not hiding the little frown very well.

“You ever shot a gun before?”

“Nope.”

He holds his hand out for the gun and I return it to him, butt first just like he’d done. He shows me how to work the safety, how to eject, check, and reload the clip, and how to aim down the sights. Making me repeat everything he says at least once before he takes aim, lightning quick, and fires off three shots at the target down the lane. One to the head, one to the heart, and one to abdomen. Then he flips the gun in his hand, holding it out to me again, all in one fluid motion. I can’t tell if he’s showing off or not. I take the gun in my hands and go through everything he’d showed me one more time, watching his face to see if I got it all right. At his nod of approval I take my aim down the lane. Holding the gun at arms length with my left hand cupping the bottom of my right, just like I’d seen him do, and fire my first shot. The jerk of the shot snaps through my wrist and I yelp from the shock of it. 

“You ok?” Dean asks, reaching to take my wrist in his hand. He rubs the pressure point there, relieving some of the pain in a practiced way, and all I can do is nod. “Don’t tense your wrist, keep it loose, let the recoil travel up your arm.” He lets my wrist go and steps back, making room for me to try again.

I flex my wrist, re-familiarizing myself with the extra weight in my hand, and take my aim again. This time I’m expecting the jerk and I do what Dean said, keeping my wrist as relaxed as I can without losing my aim, and by the third shot I’ve got the feel memorized. My fourth and fifth shot are dedicated to aim, and my sixth lands just to the side of Dean’s headshot. I turn to look at Dean, catching him just before his head turns to me, and see the small smile on his lips before it’s gone. Replaced by his back-to-business face.

****  
  


We move on to the rifle and, after again learning how to adjust myself for the recoil, it turns out I’m awesome with it. Only taking two shots before I learn I have to brace myself down on the counter, because the recoil makes me lose my aim if I don’t, but Dean says that’s ok. Of course that might also have something to do with the way my ass pokes out when I’m leaned over. After that though it takes two more shots to learn how to angel my aim, and I get resounding seal of approval after putting four shots on a near perfect square through the targets chest. Next is the shotgun, and as luck would have it, I’m lousy with it. The one gun I was looking forward to makes my arm hurt and no matter how hard I try I just can’t manage the recoil. 

Finally Dean says we’re done and after I help him change out the hole filled targets, for new ones from a storage room across the hall, we head back upstairs. I know my arms and shoulders are going to be sore tomorrow but I get to skip the hand-to-hand because Dean said I’m good enough with a gun for now. I know it doesn’t sound like much, but it feels like high praise.

Sam is still eyeball deep in his laptop when we get back upstairs to the library. Dean stops at the table next to him, asking his about what he’s found, but I just keep going. I want a beer, and a hot pack for my shoulder. I dig my beer out of the back of the fridge where Dean had stashed it, after I’d finally gotten him to agree to buy it, grumbling the whole time about ‘bitch beer’. And, just because I know I’ll be asked as soon as I get back to them anyway, I go ahead and grab the guys two of theirs and walk back to the library.

“You sure we should take her on this one? A gun won’t do her much good with these.” Sam is asking Dean when I walk in. 

“If it’s just one or two it won’t be hard.” Dean replies.

“And if it’s a whole nest?” 

“Then we’ll be gone for weeks again. You really want to tell her-”

“Oh, no. No one is telling me anything. Except what I need to pack.” I cut Dean off and set their beers down on the table.

I drop into an open chair, and after a drag of my beer I angle myself so I can look at both of them, daring them to say I can’t go. Dean just tips his own beer back and looks at Sam like ‘See? Told ya.’, which seems to trigger something in Sam. 

“Why are you so supportive of this? Usually you're the first one trying to talk people out of hunting.”

“Because, Sammy, every person we’ve tried to get out of the life, or protect from it, has either ended up dead, or  worse .” Dean answers. The implication that maybe, just maybe, if they teach me then I’ll survive goes unsaid. But it hangs heavy in the air for a moment anyway.

“You seem to be forgetting, I don’t want to  hunt , I just don’t want to be left behind again.” I try and cut the tension, but all I really do is remind Sam of the state I was in when they got back yesterday. 

It’s not what I meant to do, but I can’t take the words back now. The brief look of guilt that flickers across Sams face makes me feel like a complete bitch, but it’s gone quickly, and he just slumps defeated in his chair.

****  
  


__________________________________________________________________________


	15. Ch:15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, it's a big-un. Enjoy.

__________________________________________________________________________

I was laid out long ways in the back seat, listening to the hum of the tires on asphalt, the soft trickle of music just barely coming from the speakers, and the boys excited chatter about a job well done. Dean congratulating me on being the best bait ever, Sam congratulating on my first hunt. When I’d followed them to the bar they were checking out, my clothes practically screaming ‘If there are any vampires here please kill me’, I thought Sam was going to choke on his drink and Dean’s was going to kill me. It all worked out in the end though, all my sins forgiven with the successful killing of an entire nest.

*

When they had told me what the plan was I hadn’t objected. I mean I was the newbie right? What did I know? But after a couple of hours laying around the hotel I’d started to get bored, and I’d had an idea. So I’d walked the 5 blocks to a 24 hour Wal-Mart, did a little shopping, changed into my new clothes, then hailed a cab to the bar the boys said was the preferred hunting ground. I knew they would already be there, the plan was for them to hang there from sundown to closing.

I’d checked myself as best I could before walking inside like I was blowing into my own party, and then coming up short like I’d accidentally walked into the men’s room instead of the woman's. Every head turned to me, eyeballing me with either disgust or like I was a lost tourist. All part of the plan. I’d dressed in pre-torn light blue jean skinny jeans, partially unlaced black work boots, a black snug-fit V-neck T-shirt with ‘Team Edward’ in bloody letters across the back, and a white button up long sleeve wrapped around my waist with the sleeves tied in a knot. Fake black rim glasses, a dozen bracelets on each arm of all different kinds, five rings dispersed between my two hands, a beanie saying ‘Blood Donor’, and several different kinds necklaces, including a dog collar.

I’d walked up to the bartender doing my best to look like I knew I was in the wrong place but didn’t want to look awkward about it.

“Hey, I obviously got the wrong place, but my cab is already gone. Could you call me another one please?” I shot him a nervous smile. When he just kinda glared at me the nervousness got realer.

“I’ll have a beer while I wait?” He nodded and walked to where a phone hung behind the bar and made the call, walking back over to me when it was done.

“Ten minutes, whadja want?” he’d practically huffed at me. Everyone at the bar was subtly listening to everything I said. Gotta keep up the act.

“Smirnoff Ice?” He shook his head. “Ok, Bacardi Silver?” Another head shake. “Angry Orchard?” That just got me a raised eyebrow. I gave a pouty huff. Only half fake. So much for a good beer while a play bait. Tolerable it is then. “Bud Light with lime?”

He walked off to go get it and I’d felt a tap on my shoulder. I’d spun around to a, barely concealed, angry Dean.

“What do you think you’re doing?” his voice had been low and almost a growl, but he covered it with a dashing smile. He knew people were watching.

“Fishing.” I replied, hoping he’d get the idea. He did, and his smile faltered, but just for a second.

“Get out.” his voice still low and dashing smile still in place, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes to hide the hard stare.

Before I could respond, another guy walks up behind Dean. An older guy,  maybe late forty’s.

“Hey boy, I think the girl would just like to have her drink.” he said to Dean.

“Yeah, ok.” Dean says, never turning to look at the guy. He just stares at me with eyes that say clear as day that I’m going to take that cab, and walks off.

“So, interesting hat.” The old guy plants himself on the barstool next to mine.

“I was supposed to be going to a Twilight party. You know? The vampire movie?” I said by way of explanation.

“Never seen it.” he says. He glances over his shoulder, then starts watching the TV behind the bar.

He doesn’t say anything, just glances over his shoulder every once in awhile. After the second time I notice that he keeps glancing back at Dean, who is watching the door like a hawk and occasionally glancing at me. After a few minutes a new head poked in through the door.

“Someone call for a cab?” his voice rang out through the bar.

The guy next to me immediately sticks his hand in the air and points down at me. I dropped a five on the bar for the drink and stand up. My new, grey haired, bodyguard stood up with me.

“Thought I’d walk you out.” he said with a shrug of his shoulders.

I just gave him a smile and made my way to the door. Feeling totally useless, I’d been absolutely no help. We walked right past Dean, who made sure not to look my way, and out the door. But the cabbie was gone. Damn.

I meant to go back inside, I really did, but the old guy wraps his hand around my mouth, pinching my nose and I couldn’t breathe. His other wrapped around my chest, pinning down my arms and lifting me off my feet. My vision dimmed out.

Next thing I know I’m laying on a hay pile, screaming and snarling all around me. I sit up, the pile of hay I’m laying on is bloody, there are people hanging by chains from the roof. I got up and went to help them, but they were all dead already. So I made my way to the door I heard all the noise coming from instead, and couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Dean and Sam were swinging machetes and lopping off heads like madmen. I’d never seen them fight, not really, I’d seen them spar, but it was nothing like this. They're fast and efficient. Dean was like a whirlwind tearing through the vampires coming at him, dodging and slashing, dealing out what would be mortal wounds, Sam finishing off the ones that get past Dean.

If it had been anyone else I would have been truly terrified, like ice in my bone marrow scared, but I knew these two were the good guys. That was the only thing that kept me grounded, and grounded was good, cause the energy flowing off of Dean was like a storm. I couldn’t name it, I wasn’t even sure it was an emotion, but I could see it, smell it, hell, I could taste it. A roiling boil in a thick fog, the electric smell of lightning storms, and the taste like blood and apples. Then it was all over, the guys had stopped swinging and the bodies laid still and didn’t move. Dean fell to his knees, his head hanging off his shoulders.

I started walking towards him while Sam checked bodies. Mesmerized, by the sight of Dean kneeling in a pool of blood, and the curiosity of the energy cloud swirling around him. Deans head lifted and when he locked eyes on me the cloud around him dissipated, like it had been carried away by a breeze, and he relaxed. Sam had saw me, dropped his machete and raced to me, grabbing me up in a big bear hug till I thought I would pass out again, then threw me over his shoulder and hauled me out into the night and all but flung me into the back seat of the impala. I’d sat there in the car while the boys burned the hay barn to the ground.

*

When the impala came to a stop, bringing me out of my memories, I fully expected to be in the parking lot of a gas station. I knew we hadn’t been on the road long enough to be back at the bunker again. Maybe even a hotel, it was late and we’d had a long and nasty day, but the middle of nowhere bar was the last thing I expected to see through the windshield. It was dirty, dusty, and the wooden sign up top, awash in the overhead lights, read Moody’s.

“Um, guys?” I asked, voicing my confusion when they both grabbed their door latches.

“Just a couple of celebratory drinks and a piss break.” Dean said by explanation, not even pausing as he got out of the car. Sam at least, in any effort to be more considerate I guess, poked his head back in his door.

“We won’t be too long, promise, lock the doors and go back to sleep. I’ll bring you a coke.”, and then he was gone too.

I just sat in the backseat. Dumbstruck. I mean what was I supposed to do? Just walk into what was probably some biker bar, still dirty, and more importantly, still dressed like a grungy collage hipster? Oh, and let’s not forget the  bloodstains ! My boots were black, so that wasn’t so bad, but my jeans were one big bloodstain from the knees down. Most of the back of this shirt was bloodied and shredded, although I’d at least had a chance to wash the blood out of my hair,  again , and off my arms when we’d stopped at the hotel to get our stuff. Of course it was all in the trunk, the trunk I didn’t have the key to. This was just cruel. I hadn’t been asleep, dammit.

Time for some unconventional thinking. I crawled up and dug in the glove box till I found the knife the guys kept in there, flopped back into the back and started cutting. I hated skinny jeans anyway, they would make much better shorts. I cut them so they were short but wouldn’t leave my ass showing, took off my boots and stripped off the bloody denim. A little spit bathing took care of the little bit of blood that was on my skin, and my socks were fine. Boots on, shirt off. The back of my ‘Team Edward’ shirt wasn’t as bad as I thought. A little careful cutting took away all the blood stains  and the lettering and left me with an open back shirt with three strips of fabric still holding it together. I could work with this. I little more revealing than I would have liked, but after the night I’ve had, sitting down to my own shot of whiskey would be worth showing a little skin. Besides, Sam and Dean were in there, how much trouble could I get into?

**  
  
**

The bar’s insides were much nicer than its outsides. It still had it’s dark corners and floor stains but then main area’s were pretty well lit, it was mostly clean, and the atmosphere was lighter then I was expecting. Little Big Town’s  Boondocks was pouring out of the jukebox, and the bartender waved to me as soon as I walked in. I thought I saw Sam and Dean by the pool tables out of the corner of my eye, but my internal priorities said booze first, so I flashed the bartender my best smile and sent a silent prayer the beer selection was better than the last place.

“What can I getcha?” he asks as I walk up.

“You got Angry Orchard?” I ask, not hiding the little beg in my voice.

“Apple or Strawberry?” he answers with a smile. I have to repress the unsightly urge to give a girly squeal and clap my hands.

“Apple!” I still sound a little too giddy. He just smiles though and goes to dig one out of the ice chest.

“Long day?” He asks as he slides the bottle across to me.

“Long, dirty, and a little scary.” I say with a little chuckle.

I pay the man and turn to see if I can still spot Sam and Dean. I was right, they’re  toward the back of the bar where the pool tables are. Without warning my devious side kicks in, and I couldn’t say why, but I wanted to mess with them. So I stare, hard. I know it won’t take long till one of them gets that tingle up their spine, they both have great instincts. It takes longer than I thought it would, but finally I see Sam’s spine straighten. I spin around and prop against the bar, angling my ass out a little, and catch the bartenders attention.

“Sup?” he asks.

“Are any of those guys playing pool looking this way?”

“Yeah, all of them. They trouble?” he asks defensively.

“Oh no. I know two of them, but I don’t think they realize who I am. I just wanna mess around with em a little.”

“Ah. So which one are you angling for?” he gives me a coy grin.

“Huh? Oh, no, it’s not like that.” I know my eyes are wide and I can’t help but blush a little. I didn’t realize how it had sounded till he mentioned it. “They ditched me to come here, I just wanna show them this can be my scene too.”  

“Uh huh. Well they went back to their game, but one keeps eyeing this way.” again with the coy grin.

“Hey, what kind of stuff you got on that jukebox? Anything worth dancing to?”

“Depends, what kind of dancing you wanting to do?” and just like that I have a co-conspirator.

“The fun kind.” I finally get my chance to show off a coy grin.

“Yeah, there's some of that. As long as you like country.”

“Just so happens, I do. Is the way clear or are there still prying eyes?”

“Yeah I think so.”

I shove off the bar and walk across the dance floor to where the jukebox rests against the wall.  I let my hair fall over my face on the side that would show to the guys if they should happen to look over and start giving the song selection a once-over. Not giving a second thought to my hips wiggling along to the rifts of Eric Church’s  Springsteen . It’s got an up-to-date selection, so I drop my fifty cents for my three songs, make my picks, and wait for them to kick off.   Drinking Class to start off, it’s a slow builder that I can sway to at the bar while I finish my beer. Draw a little attention to myself safely chatting up the bartender while it plays. I take a quick glance through my hair to make sure the coast is clear before walking back to bar and resuming my position.

“So let me ask you this. What you gonna to do if you get the attention of someone other than your friends?” the bartender asks me once I’m propped against the bar again. “You know they're not the only men in here, and you're not exactly unappealing.”

“I’ll tell them I’m here with someone else.”

“And if that don’t work?” he crooks an eyebrow at me. “I just don’t want there to be any trouble.”

“If there is, it won’t be started by me. As long as everyone here agrees that ‘no means no’.”

“I can agree to those terms. Need another.” he points at my beer.

“Yeah. Please.” I turn sideway as though I’m watching the bartender as he walks to get me a new beer.

Really though, I’m back to staring at the guys again. Waiting till one of them glances my way, then turning so they can’t get a good look at my face. Bartender’s right though. Now that he’s brought it up, I’m not the only one playing eye-tag in this bar. A few of the other patrons are shooting me side glances. I’m losing my bravery to venture out to the dance floor, and the song is changing.  Small Town Throwdown was supposed to my boogieing song, but maybe Bartender is right and I should play a little closer to the fence.

Bartender slides my bottle down the bar to me and goes on to start refilling beers and mixers for the others at the bar. One of the two guys playing pool with Sam and Dean is down there picking up another round for all of them. I’m taking a swig and resigning myself to no dancing when a shoulder tap catches me off guard. It’s Sam.

“Ro?” he’s scoffs, but with a little half-grin. I’m so busted.

“Hey Sam. Where’s my coke?” I joke with him.

“Uh, sorry. Dean’s, uh, playing some pool.” I know he barely caught himself before saying ‘hustling’. “You clean up nice.” again with the half-grin.

“Aw, thank you.” I try not to flush too much at how he’s watching my hips sway to the music. Sam has never looked at me like this before.

“Were you want’n to dance?” he asks, and I can hear the nerves in his voice.

I burst into a smile, grab his hand and tug. I get no resistance and can’t help the happy noise I make as I drag him out to the floor. I still get to dance to at least half of my song, and maybe even the next one, and now I’m not out here alone.

Before we make it to the middle of the floor Sam gives my arm a little jerk, and before I can worry he’s backing out on me, he twirls me around. I end up with my back to his front and I’m struck again by just how damn  tall he is. His hips start swaying in time with mine, a little stiffly, but hey, at least he’s trying. He’s got my hands, holding them out and a little over my head, and I use the leverage to spin out and face him so we’re not just grinding. Once I’m facing him I shoot him an encouraging smile, but he’s not looking at me. He’s looking over my shoulder, and he looks confused, bordering on annoyed. The reason bumps up against my ass, causing me to jump and back into Sam. Sam puts one arm around me protectively, tucking me to his chest.

The guy who’d walked up behind me is a tall, skinny, unshaven, and moving around inside of his own cloud of old beer stench. I think he’s one of the group that had been on the far end of the bar.

“Why dunchu dance wiff shomeone who knows how, purdy lady?” he slurs at me. He tries to do something that in his mind was supposed to be a dance move, but it just makes him stumble instead.

“Hey, man, maybe you should-” Sam starts, not unkindly, but the drunk cuts him off with an angry glare.

“Maybe yous should shut up city boy.” he practically yells at Sam.

I hear barstools scrape against the floor, and start wondering if I knock this guy on his ass if Sam and I can make it to the door before all hell breaks loose. But what about Dean? I try and glance towards the pool table but I can’t see most of that area of the bar from where I am in Sam's arms without drawing attention to what I’m doing. I feel Sam chest expand as he takes a deep breath to speak and I cut him off.

“I don’t want to dance with you. I don’t even know you.” I try and defuse the guy.

He just eyeballs me and I can sense the lust rolling off him. It brushes against me and I shiver under the feel, like eels on my skin, and it’s all I can do not to absorb the energy.

“Well why dun you jush shimmy over hur and I’ll show you all you neejs to know?” he slurs and licks his lips.

His eyes never go higher than my breasts. One of his buddy’s from the bar comes over and tugs on his sleeve, saying something I can’t make out over the music, but it looks like he’s trying to get him to go back to the bar with him.

“Why don’t you just go with your buddy and finish your beer, man.” I try once more.

His mouth opens like he’s going to say something, but his eyes move and his expression changes. His lust withdraws and I can feel an aura of anger and violence roll in from behind Sam and I.

“The  lady said she doesn’t wanta dance.” Deans gravely voice come from just behind and to the right of Sam and I.

I glance his way and can just see him from the corner of my eye. His posture is forcibly relaxed , his thumbs stuck in his pockets, his expression carefully blank, but his eyes are hard and his emotional aura feels like standing too close to a fire.

“Randy! Sit the hell back down or I’m calling your wife, and the sheriff. In that order.” yells the bartender as he comes out from behind the bar and marches our way.

The bartender has successfully distracted the drunks, and I take the lifeboat he offers, grabbing Sam’s hand and snagging Dean by a belt loop and start easing us towards the door. Dean gives me a little resistance, he’s focused on the conversation going on with the bartender, but lets me lead him out. Once we’re outside and the door closed behind us I let both men go and we walk silently back to the car, get in, and drive off. Not a word spoken, and just like that I’ve fucked up again.

__________________________________________________________________________


	16. Ch:16

  
  


A rhythmic, although slightly jarring, rocking motion brings me into semi-consciousness. My first instinct is to just fall back to sleep, but there’s something digging into my cheek with every sway, my right leg is asleep and tingling uncomfortably, and there are voices talking low. My first priority is my face, cause  God that is annoying, and there’s nothing that can be done about my leg except wait it out. When I nuzzle my head around in search of a softer resting place I come to the realization that I’m face-first in a leather jacket. The immediate surge of protectiveness that envelopes me feels like Dean, and now that my brain has gotten something to latch onto to bring it back to reality, the voice coming from the chest under my ear confirms it. I’m being carried, I must have actually fallen asleep in the backseat this time, and the guys are talking about me.  Again . 

 

“She’s friggin  out man. I wish she’d just say something when she needs to feed, instead of this crazy shit.” Dean says, his voice brotherly. 

 

“You think she’s sleeping off a feeding?”

 

“You got a better explanation for that shit in the bar? I mean, why the hell else would she go in there, dressed like this, and not come straight to us?” his voice now with a hint of annoyance.

 

"I wonder what, or who, she fed off of.” Sam says, and there's an odd sound to his voice I can’t quite place.

 

“Afraid she knows you wanted to do her?” Dean jabs, and I feel the shove from Sam through Dean. They both chuckle though, so I don’t worry.

 

“Whatever man, at least she’s getting some sleep. Been a crazy ass day for her.” Sam’s the one sounding all brotherly now and I have to fight my face to keep the smile off of it. Can’t break my cover now.

 

“Yeah, I don’t know. Maybe you were right and we shouldn’t have let her come.” The urge to ‘wake up’ and punch Dean in the chest was hard to resist. 

 

“No, man, you were right, she did awesome.”

 

“What? She almost got made into vampy chow, if I hadn’t been watching to make sure she got into the cab, we’d have lost her.” Dean’s voice dropped to almost a growl at the end. Anger and guilt seeping out his pores and rubbing against my skin.

 

“She knew you were watching her. Besides, dude, she watched us behead an entire nest of vamps, checked for survivors, and never even flinched.”

 

“Are you blind or just dumb? Did you see the look on her face when we stopped swinging? She was terrified, Sam, terrified. She was shaking, I was afraid she was in shock!” Dean whispered violently. He had stopped walking as he talked. This was getting a little weird to overhear, my guilt kicking in full time, but it was too late to end my ruse now.

 

“Dean, that was the adrenaline,” Sam said in an annoyed voice, clearly reserved for pointing out the obvious, “and that wasn’t fear, it was awe.”

 

I can’t see their faces, but the awkward silence that filled in after that left me feeling a little naked. I know Sam is sharp, but that he had read me so cleanly is a little freaky. So, to break the stare-off I bet their having, I squirm a little and curl into Dean’s chest. It works and Dean starts walking again.

 

“Come on, open the door so I can put her to bed.” 

 

No more words are spared, but I can’t help but wonder if their talking with just their faces again. I push away the guilt I have at making Dean carry me not only down the balcony stairs but the library stairs as well, and it’s really not that hard if I just focus on the smell of him and how he makes me feel small and fragile. It’s a good feeling, like being wrapped in a security blanket. I’m not sure when we lost Sam but by the time Dean stops walking his footsteps are the only ones I hear, and he’s started humming. I feel him carefully shift to get the door and twist the knob, and then the few more steps it takes him to reach the bed. 

 

I don’t make my bed, what's the point, I’m just going to get back in it and mess it up again. So when he lays me down, rolling me a little so I’m on my side, he grabs the blanket and pulls it over me. Stopping to slide my boots and socks off before tucking my feet under too. Then he’s gone, the only sound he makes is the click of my door closing. I finally let myself smile, stupidly giddy at how sweet he treated me despite how much of a total badass he is. I fall back to sleep with thoughts of what Dean would look like as the hero on the cover of one of those stupid romance novels. 

 

__________________________________________________________________________

 


	17. Ch:17

 

The ‘thwak’ of my sweaty back hitting the floor mat echoed in my ears when I slammed down,  again . I take two deep breathes to check for broken ribs, then pull my knees up to my chest and heave them out again to propel myself back to my feet. As soon as my feet are underneath me again I’m free game, so I roll to my right getting the huge hunk of muscle that’s gunning for me back in my sights. How the hell I’m supposed to take him down is something I’m still racking my brain for an answer to. For now though, I’m just trying to keep him from knocking me on my ass for good. 

 

Fortunately for me my ability to heal crazy fast means any injuries I get are short lived, and as a side effect I have acquired a really high pain threshold. So thanks to those two things working in unison I have managed to stay in the fight this long. I have great stamina from all the running I do daily, and I’ve put on a little muscle since I started living at the bunker with the brothers. I just don’t have the sheer mass or momentum to take down someone as big as Sam!

 

“This is insane Dean, he’s almost literally twice my size! I know you know physics, this can't be done.” I yell at Dean, who’s standing outside the boxing ring that Sam and I are circling each other in.

 

“Sure you can, you just gotta figure it out.” he says way too calmly, it’s annoying.

  
  


Sam, meanwhile, is enjoying the role of scary bad-guy way too much. He’s leering at me like a bear about to be attacked by a 3 year old, and topless and sweaty, which makes him really hard to get a grip on. Also makes it a little hard to remember I’m supposed to be fighting him, not ogling him. 

 

He lunges at me again, and all he has to do is get a good grip on me, because my five-foot-two, buck forty self, apparently poses no challenge for him to just pick up and sling around like bag of apples. He’s done it about a dozen times now. So this time I drop low, ducking towards his forward most leg, spin around and kick him in the back of his thigh. Earning me a grunt for my efforts and little else. So now we’re back to circling each other again.  My frustration gets the better of me and I try to attack him again, hoping to aim high then go low, get around behind him maybe. But no, he just grabs me by the arm, spinning me in midair and drops me again. My arms pinned to my sides by his knees and him sitting squarely on my butt. 

 

Both of them let out matching sighs and suddenly I’m just so pissed I could cry. Then I am crying. Quietly, and facing away from them both, because it’s just too fucking embarrassing. But I can’t stop my shoulders from hitching. Sam notices of course, jumping off me like he’s hurting me, even though he’s really not. He’s really been as gentle as he can. I know that and it just makes it worse. He tries to scramble around to see my face but as soon as I’m free of his weight I’m off the mat and out of the ring. I hear them calling after me, and I might have actually yelled ‘Fuck off’ instead of just thinking it, but I’m not sure because all I can focus on is getting away from them. 

 

I run. I just run, down the halls back to the library, through the war room, up the stairs and out the door. If I thought the fresh air outside would help, which is a pretty big  if considering I’m not doing much thinking right now, I was wrong. The running feels good though, so I keep doing that. Down the middle of the road at first, long ground eating strides, then veering off into the woods. Venting all my frustration through my legs. Running till my breath evened out and my legs burned, then till I’m gulping breath like I’m drowning, and still farther. Leaping fallen branches and small bushes like hurdles on a school track. Finally I just can't run anymore and I stumble to a stop, falling to my knees in a mostly flat area of brown leafy nowhere. Now that my legs aren't moving anymore they won’t seem to hold me up.

 

I roll and fall on back, sucking in huge mouthfuls of air, and letting my slightly abused body come down from the adrenalin high. I have no idea how long I’ve been running, but I know I was going at a pretty good clip, so It’s going to be one hell of a walk back. I refused to think about what if I couldn’t just backtrack back to the road. Being stupid  and getting lost doing it is just not an option, and I was definitely being stupid. Because having a hissy fit and running away, yeah that what adults do, really. So, calm breathing and relaxing my body till I can get back up and walk my ass home was the priority.

 

Slow breaths and even slower stretches, that's the ticket. Gotta get moving soon, it’s starting to get dark. No cramping!  No ! Damnit! My calf seizes up so hard my toes curl inside my sneaker, and I’m just too exhausted to not yell. Curling in on myself, and fighting over whether to rub or not to rub, consumes all my brain for I don’t know how long. Rubbing at it hurts, not rubbing at it hurts, and-. What was that noise? I have absolutely no warning before Sam stumbles over a bush in front of me and scares the holy hell out of me. My scream tears through the quiet of the woods around me, till my body starts trying to backpedal away from him without asking me for permission first and I choke up. Trying to put weight on my cramping leg, after scaring the life out of everything in a mile radius, just about knocks the wind out of me. 

 

“Ro! Hey, it’s just me.” Sam says, dropping to his knees in front of me. I hear Dean shout from somewhere in the distance. “Here.” Sam yells over his shoulder before turning back to me, eyes immediately going to where I’m grabbing at my leg. “How are you hurt?”  

 

“Jesus, Sam, you scared the hell out of me.” I huff at him. “My leg cramped up.” 

 

“Here, let me see.” he says, and without waiting grabs me by the ankle. 

 

He pulls my shoe off and pushes up my pant leg, ignoring my hiss of pain as he examines my calf. Finally he adjusts himself till he’s sitting more comfortably on the ground with me foot in his lap. I get the brief warning of an apologetic smile before he starts gently squeezing the muscles of my calf. I try and bite back the groan but I’m only half successful. Dean catches up, rounding around the trees with gun in hand, scanning for dangers, and coming up short when he spots me flopped out on my back with sam giving me a leg rub. 

 

“What happened?” he asks, tucking his gun into the waistband of the back of his jeans.

 

“Her leg cramped up, hard.” Sam answers for me. 

 

I’m too afraid to open my mouth, I couldn’t be sure what kind of noises might come out of it, so I just nod my agreement. Not that anyone looked to me for confirmation. Sam’s busy looking at what he’s doing, and so is Dean. He’s just glaring at my leg like he’s blaming it personally for still sitting around in the woods instead of starting the walk home. In fact I blame it too. I’m not sure what the energy level to wound severity ratio formula that my body uses to determine what auto-heals and what doesn’t, but I do know that is how it works. The weaker I am the less I heal, sometimes things like paper cuts and sore muscles didn’t heal up at all till I fed again or they wore off on their own. The annoyed look on Dean’s face gave me an idea though.

 

“Hey, Dean.” I get his attention. “When we get back I’m taking this out on your car.” I smile when his eyes go wide. “Oh yeah, her tires for my leg cramp. A couple of door dings and maybe scratching my name in the paint. That ought to make me feel better.” I keep smiling as I feel his anger getting up. That hollow rage that’s fed by the Mark, calorie free and full of vitamins, and perfect for a healing pick-me-up. Not that its not nice getting a rubdown from Sam but we have a long walk in the dark ahead of us.

 

“What?” he asks, half confused and half angry, taking a step towards me. 

 

I hold my hand up to stop his forward motion. I’m trying to draw the energy to me across the distance, one of the skills I’m trying teach myself, because if it works then we might be able to avoid the awkwardness that always seems to happen when we do this while touching. Plus if Sam is right and I have to forcibly drain the Mark’s rage from him to stop him from rampaging someday, then being able to that from a safe distance would be nice. But it’s not working.

 

“I said you make Sam do all your heavy lifting cause your a little bitch.” I deadpan. 

 

There we go. He marches over and snatches me up off the ground by my upper arms, and up against a nearby tree, and that's all I needed. As soon as he’s close enough I start draining off the anger, funneling it into healing all my bruises and sore muscles, all while immediately going soft and submissive when he snatches me up. Deans not stupid, by any means, but sometimes his instincts are faster than his brain, and now that I got him started I have to turn him back off again. 

 

“I’m sorry, Dean, I didn’t mean it.” I try and placate him, but its not working. 

 

“I know.” he says, shaking me a little till I look up at his face. “I don’t like being manipulated.”

 

Even though my leg is in perfect working condition I still crumple to the ground when he lets me go and walks away. His words like are like a punch to my gut, because that is exactly what I just did. I did the monster thing, I heartlessly manipulated someone to get what I wanted without a second thought, and not even because I needed to. Because I  wanted to. On a whim. My guilt sits heavy in my stomach, making me nauseous. It takes Sam walking over and pulling me to my feet to get us moving, following the trail I’d made when I’d come crashing through here like my ass was on fire.

 

I didn’t see Dean the whole way back, despite being able to hear him ahead of me, but Sam kept me silent company. I didn’t know, and couldn’t tell, if the silence was his doing or mine, but it was full anyway. Him not judging me, me judging myself enough for the both of us, because we both knew he had been the one to suggest I feed almost exclusively from Dean’s mark-fueled anger. Though this isn’t what either one of us really had meant.

  
__________________________________________________________________________


	18. Ch:18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, that's 3 chap's. Sorry I took so long, but 2 of them were kinda short so wanted to put them up together, and the last one is a pre-emptive apology. I'm going to be kinda busy for the next few weeks and may not get a chance to write or update again for awhile. Hope you guys are enjoying :)

I hadn’t seen Castiel since he helped me move my stuff in, and I still didn’t see him much when he came to get the guys help with some guy named Cain, who was apparently killing off entire fields worth of people. Sam came to me while I was down in the shooting range and told me they were leaving, giving me the short version of the story, and very carefully not asking me if I needed to feed soon. I could tell it was kind of a personal thing and made Sam a little twitchy, so I wasn’t insulted that I wasn’t invited. I’d just told him that I should be good for about a week and if I got into a pinch I’d go steal a car from the garage. Of course, frickin hindsight, if I had known what would happen to them while they were gone I would have stowed away in the trunk if that's what it took. It honestly hadn’t occurred to me that this Cain guy Sam he mentioned was  the Cain. 

Now it was just us three again, Sam and I kinda tiptoeing around Dean. Not because he was violent, but because he wasn’t, and we weren't sure where he disappeared to sometimes when he got upset. Sam was sure he wasn’t leaving the bunker, and he might have been hiding in different places each time, but all the same it didn’t mean well. No one told me what the hell had happened except ‘ Dean killed Cain ’. Like that explained anything except his face and the blood stains! Sam even ran interference the few times he could tell I wanted to ask, finding reasons to get me out of the room. I tried not to push, but my toes were getting sore and if I was going to keep walking on eggshells I wanted to know why. So I asked.

“Seriously, Sam, you give me one good reason not to call him out on it. I’m supposed to be the energy sucker around here.” I challenged him while we cooked dinner one night. Well, I cooked, Sam handed me stuff and kept me company. 

“Because you can’t _make_ him talk, trust me, I’ve been trying to for years.” the look on his face told me all about how often he’d been successful. 

“Well, I’m going to have to go to town soon anyway, and if having me out will help I can go tonight.” I offer

“Why?” Sam asks, honestly confused.

“Look, Sam.” I level a look at him over my shoulder. “Dean’s on some kind of complete emotional lock down, so there's none of his usual overflow to snack on. Neither one of you are looking for cases, which I understand, but that just leaves take out.” I pause long enough to turn and wash my hands off in the sink. A shadow at the door catches my eye, but nothings there when I turn to look. “Girls got needs, you know?”

“What about me?” Sam offers, his smile countering the pout in his voice. I have to take a moment to think about it, but no, Sam isn't what I want.

“Sam, I’m not calling you emotionally stunted or anything, but I don’t think I’ve ever known you to have enough emotional overflow to feed me. I’m sure you have it, but you don’t show it. Even in the thick of shit, you keep it all close to home, and I don’t want to have to crack you open when I can just go into town for a day.” I feel like a bitch for telling Sam, in the nicest way I know, that I don’t think he could get the job done, but beating around the bush does no one any favors. “Or more.” I tack on after remembering my previous offer.

“Fine. One day, and I go with you. Dean’ll never go for it otherwise, and I do the talking.” he said, his face and voice both leaving no room for argument.

“Fine. Now, make yourself useful and get the beers.” I order playfully as I head toward to door with plates in both hands and one balanced on my arm.

He huffs at me but I hear the smile in it as I make my way to the library, hollering for Dean as I walk down the hall, but he’s already sitting in the library when I get there. Sam hot on my heels with beers for all. Lately, this is as close as we get to normal, sitting around eating dinner. The silence isn’t awkward because we’re all eating, and what little chat there is afterwards is usually about food, or booze. Tonight is different though, the silence  is awkward, and I’m not the only one to feel it.

“So, Ro needs to go to town for a day. Get some stuff.” Sam breaks the silence. Dean stiffens, reaching for his beer to wash down his food, and Sam hurries on before Dean can start arguing. “I’m going with her.” he says reassuringly, but that's not the effect it has on Dean. 

Dean’s back went ramrod straight, beer still to his lips, and eyes going wide. Sam's face was confused, afraid he’d said something to set Dean off, but unsure what it had been. I was too distracted by the little blip of emotion that flared briefly, like a camera flash, and then was gone. Locked back down so hard and so fast I almost doubted I’d felt it, could have mistaken it for Sam maybe, except for the way Dean’s hand shook when he put his beer back down. Sam was too busy trying to read his face so he didn’t notice, but I did. When Dean just stood without another word and marched to the stairs, taking them two at a time, Sam just hung his head. I knew he wouldn’t go after him, he was too caught up in his confusion, I could tell.

“Oh, hell no. This isn’t happening.” I grumbled, getting to my feet. Sam grabbed my wrist, stopping me.

“Ro.” his eyes pleaded me, trying to stop me, just like he’s been doing. I wasn’t having it this time.

“No. Now we’re doing it my way.” I said, snatching my arm back.

“Ro,-” he tried again, but I cut him off I knew what the next argument would be. He was afraid for me. Why? I had no clue, he wouldn’t say,  but he was afraid for me all the same.

“What's he gonna do, Sam? Get mad at me?" I asked, and when Sam had no answer I had mine.

I bolted after Dean, afraid I'd lost him in the few seconds I took to argue with Sam, but managed to get down just in time to see him make a turn to another hallway. High time I find out his hiding place anyway. I follow him as close as I can without getting caught or losing him, amazed he can't hear my heartbeat in the quiet, and damned glad I was barefoot and in my yoga pants. Finally he stops and opens a door and walks into a room I know Sam and I have looked in before, confirming that he keeps changing it up. It's not far from his room actually, he just took a roundabout way to get here. I hesitate at the door, trying to plan out what I’m going to say to him, when I hear a muffled thumping. I open the door to some kind of storage room full of furniture, half a dozen chairs of different kinds, night stands, bookshelves, stacked bed frames, and their mattresses lined up two deep along one wall. Dean is laying into a set of those like a full sized punching bag, the hold on his emotions is cracking under the pressure.

“Dean?” I call out softly. He stiffens, his walls going back up, and he reaches out to a nearby bookshelf and grabs a large, dusty bottle of whiskey.

“Ro. You're not supposed to be here.” he say before taking a swig.

“Dean, you wanta tell me what's going on?” I try. 

“Nope.” he says when the bottle leaves his lips, finally turning to look at me with hard, cold eyes, trying to freeze me out. I just lean back against the closed door behind me, defiant. “Aren't you supposed to be packing your bags with Sam?” he asks when he realizes I’m not leaving that easy.

“Is that what you want?” I counter. 

His face scrunches up, somewhere between frustrated and ‘what smells?’, before taking two steps to the closest arm chair and slumping into it. His body perfectly imitating boneless exhaustion, except for the hand still holding the whiskey, landing in it crooked with one knee hanging over the arm. It’s a mocking posturing, and I am so done with his shit. I can feel the hurricane of his emotions, muted into the equivalent of white noise, trying to break through his skin. 

“Ok, we can do this one of two ways.” My anger getting the best of me. “Either you spill whatever’s eating at you, before you give yourself an ulcer or an aneurysm or whatever, or I put on my big-bad, monster-girl pants and reach out and take it from you.”

Deans eye lifted to give me and once over and a calculated look. My body didn’t look like much for a guy like dean to be afraid of, but mine was no idle threat. Even before I’d started practicing I had to ability to  take  energy from people, I just didn’t, all I need was to  get my hands on them and focus. So the fact that he outweighed me by at least fifty pounds, has years worth of fighting practice, and enough rage inside him to mow me over doesn’t really matter. He won’t use the rage, and all I have to do is get him skin-to-skin.

“You gonna fight me little girl?” he half smiles and half sneers, looking at me from under hooded eyes so darkened they almost look black. 

The floodgates break. Just like that. The remainder of my pool of energy sparking, like a pool of oil struck by lightning, and every one of my own dark emotions I’ve ever repressed rushing through my blood like fire. Every time I’ve ever made the choice not to be the monster I know I am, every urge to take what I want just because I can, every time I made myself feel guilty for something that wasn’t my fault. Because that’s the way humans should be, right? Well I’m not a human am I? The power of not caring anymore makes me feel weighted, grounded, powerful. 

Dean can see, or maybe feel, the change in me. He sits up straighter, dropping his other leg down to rest on the floor with the first, leaning forward to rest his elbows on this thighs and setting the bottle down between his feet. His eyes going wide, for just a second, is the only sign of his surprise, but I see it.

“You’ve been holding out on us.”

“I warned you, Dean.”

He gets to his feet when I take my first step. His hand goes for the knife I know he’d had tucked into the that chair, and is now in his back pocket, while I take my second step. My third step puts me just outside his reach as he drops into his fighting stance. I don’t want to fight him, even as jacked up as I am. What I want is to grab him, pin him to the floor, and suck all the energy I can fucking take out of him. Maybe just bite him, right there on that exposed neck/shoulder muscle his shirt doesn’t quite cover. Get a little bloody taste of him, leave a little proof I knocked him off his fucking high horse. 

I reach out to grab his wrist with my last step, all I need is to touch skin, but he dodges me. Slipping around and trying to get behind me. I spin just in time to deflect a slash meant for my shoulder by putting my arm up and in the way. The cut is deep, but starts to heal instantly, and I barely register the pain before its gone. I step into him, reaching low, going for the bottom of his shirt, trying to block the knife with my other hand. He bows his body, dodging my hand long enough to slip around with the knife and slice me again and knocking my hand away. 

We dance this way, him dodging and slicing, me reaching and blocking, forcing him to trip over the furniture in the room as I continue to advance on him. A chair gets stabbed by accident, I break a bed frame when he kicks me into it. His emotional walls had started to crack again about the same time he started to work up a sweat, the physical exertion and the stress combining to weaken his resolve. Little wisps of the emotional storm raging just under his skin leaking through and getting absorbed almost as soon as they were free. Bits of his rage, his distrust, eagerness, fear, sadness, glee. I trip him with a standing lamp, breaking it when he trips over it and using the half still in my grip to knock away the knife. 

Now all he has are his hands and, despite all the room around him, he’s cornered. I have small injuries left, a split lip, a few bruises, my ankle hurts, I have a hole in my pants leg where he’d cut me and even though it healed over it still throbs. Dean’s a little worse. Bleeding from his nose and inside his own mouth somewhere, his shirt is torn, a large bruise blooming across his collarbone. Both of us breathing heavy. My rage has flagged, my supercharge is wearing off, and I know if I don’t win out over him soon I never will. He’s still ready and willing to fight me though, watching me coldly, waiting for me to make my next move.

All I have to do is touch him, so I advance on him, throwing what's left of the lamp at his feet. All I need is the brief distraction. I get close enough and leap at him, like a flying tackle. Despite everything we’d just done to each other, despite knowing what will happen, his first instinct is to catch me. A hero and a gentleman, all the way to his core, even if he can’t or won’t see it in himself. As his arms wrap around me, and we fall to the floor, I slip a hand under the hem of his shirt and  pull .

Despair, fear, self loathing,  rage , undertones of other emotions that don’t quite measure enough to scale. Once the flow starts, from under his skin and into mine, the dam breaks and the walls crumble. The storm inside him that I’ve been sensing for days floods out and fills the room. It’s like being caught in a tornado, swirling around the room, and I feel like my hair should be blowing around, and the furniture should be falling over. I know he can’t see it, but I can, and it’s distracting. So I miss all the signs that lead up to him rolling us over, till he’s completely covering my body with his, and pinning me to the floor. 

Once again I’m assaulted by the emotional energy he’s capable of, trying desperately trying to sort through them, and taking in all the anger and sadness I can till I feel like I might burst. My hand is still under his shirt, pressed against his ribs, and I try and use the connection to funnel back into him the good emotions I can sort out. Heaven knows the bad outweighs the good right now, and I’m so focused on it that I don’t notice my hand is glowing till Dean speaks.

“What are you doing to me?” he voice is so rough from the drain that it breaks.

All I can do is shake my head and watch the bruises on his face and collarbone fade. All my injuries are healed already, the aches and soreness gone, and somehow I’m healing him too now. It makes sense, sorta. This energy heals me, among other things, and maybe if I channel it  through me and into someone else it heals them too. The thought had never occurred to me before. Even after I’m done taking in what I need for myself as long as I’m channeling energy into Dean the flow continues, through me and into him, like I’m just a medium. Until he realizes what happening, the storm dissipating as he reins it all back in, and gets to his feet.

“How did you do that? What the hell are you?” he asks, looking down at me, his face the very image of confused.

“I don’t know. I mean, I know the how, just not the what.” I grumble getting to my feet. “Still.”

I have a dozen questions and theories running, screaming through my head. All of Deans negative emotions fighting for some face-time, and the remembered feel of Dean laid out on top of me is still making me too warm. I’ve got enough energy racing through me right now that I should be bouncing off the walls like Flubber. And he’s just standing there patting himself down, looking for the injuries that weren't there anymore.

“What, what did you just do to me?” he asks. The accusing look his gives me is so much like ‘normal’ Dean I can’t help but smile. 

“I took your emotional baggage, just like I said I would.” I say as neutrally as I can. “Just the misery, not the memories. Your secrets are still safe, they just hurt less.

I can’t exactly be happy, not with all the guilt and sorrow I took from Dean muted in the back of my mind, but I am kinda high on the energy and the knowledge that I can use it to heal. Part of me wants to march up to Dean and kiss him, to thank him, and another just wants to punch something and cry. Mostly though, I just want Dean to go back to pinning me to the floor, let me finish ripping that shirt off, and maybe even still bite him. Normally this is the part where I walk away, but he’s between me and the door and I’m not sure I could get close enough to pass him and keep my hands to myself. He looks like he wants that whiskey bottle back, and to sit down and ask me a hundred questions.

“Why?” He’s so confused it’s annoying. Like he doesn’t understand why I would literally fight him to help him.

“Because your the only one who seemed to think you deserve to be miserable.” I snap at him. “I don’t know what you did, because you won’t tell me or anyone else, but I know that it doesn’t matter.”

Dean’s head snapped, like an invisible hand had just slapped him, and his face go that scrunched look again. I cut him off before he could open his mouth though.

“No, shut up.” I hold up a finger to emphasize. “You and your brother bust your balls almost daily, to save people and kill the things that hunt them. For how long now? You’ve been to hell, purgatory, and had to watch your family die all around you and not get to come back. People know what you do, there are books about you, and you still get nothing. No recognition, no money, no breaks. You risk life and limb and what little you have left to save people who would spit on you if they didn’t need you. Now I know you're no saint, you’ve probably got a list of sins long enough to wrap around the planet, but it doesn’t matter.” I have to stop and take calming breath. “And do you want to know why?”

“Because of all the people we’ve saved?” he says, his voice rough and scratchy but the sarcasm is thick anyway. His eyes drift off, preparing to file away my next words into his ‘bullshit’ file and discard my argument.

“No.” His eye’s snap back to mine, eyebrows scrunching. Not what he was expecting I guess. “Because even if you had nothing to redeem yourselves for, you’d do it all anyway.” I do nothing to hid the respect and kindness in my voice. He needs it. 

I’ve got myself anchored enough to finally chance brushing past him to the door, he’s still kinda up in his head anyway. His eyes follow me but their on auto pilot. So I got retrieve the bottle from where it sits on the floor, putting it in his hand as I go by him on my way to the door. 

__________________________________________________________________________

**  
  
**


	19. Ch:19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still kinda on Hiatus because I'm not actively working on it, but I have done some work and here it is. Hope you guys enjoy.

The bunker is quiet on my way to the kitchen, no sign of either brother, which means I get to make the coffee today. Yay. This almost always ends with me making the coffee too strong and Sam bitching, at which point I tell him that maybe he should switch to tea like a good little bookworm, because I don’t handle criticism well before the second mug. Despite me being in one of my ‘showered, rested, and fed’ bouncy good moods, I’m still not human without my caffeine, and Dean will still have to pick a side while trying not to laugh at Sam's ‘bitchface’. That’s the only variable to this dance. So I set up the coffee maker and lay my head on my arms on the counter and wait. To my great surprise it’s Dean who joins me in the kitchen first this morning

“Morning, Sunshine.” I smile. He grunts and mimes pushing me away from the coffee maker with his hand. “I see you got plenty of sleep last night.” I slide down the counter out of his way and let him get the first mug.

“Spent half the night cleaning up that damned room and playing 20 questions with Sam.” he grumbled pouring his coffee before turning to look at me. 

Here comes the ‘Don’t mention  blank to Sam.’ part of the morning. Where  blank is anything that Dean might find embarrassing, including-but-not-limited-to his tendency to grope me while I’m feeding, because I almost always end up in his lap or with him carrying me to bed after. On occasion I offer to carry on but he always turns me down, usually out of some misguided sense of chivalry. He has twice said to ask him some other time, the look in his eye promising, but I can never get the nerve. I‘m submissive that way, and this is not fair, I still need my coffee! Dammit, brain, stop it.

“I know, I know.” I wave my hand, both to shoo away his impending speech and the thoughts in my head. “Don’t tell Sam,  whatever. ” I wiggle my hand in a circular way to mean that ‘whatever’ means whatever he was fixing to say. “Scooch.” I‘m not waiting. I get a mug from the cabinet when he backs away, pour my coffee, and get some ice from the freezer.

“Huh? No. I told him.” he admits, looking a little confused. “Do I always say…” he trails off.

“Yup.” I answer, trying not to sound offended and failing. He at least had the consideration to look down at the floor.

“ Well, I told him about last night.” he sounds apologetic, and I can’t stay mad at him. 

“What did you say?” I ask.

“Just that you came and found me, we fought, and you fed. And that, healing me, thing.” he tried to make it sound like no big deal, he really did.

“And?” I ask, wanting to know what Sam had said.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t ruin your chance to get Sam to, uh, take you to town.” he said the last part too quickly and immediately started for the door.

“What?” I jump up from where my hip had been resting and go after him. “The hell are you talking about?” I’d completely forgotten about that till just now, and had no idea what that had to do with what Sam had said about my new found healing abilities. 

“Girls got needs, right?” he says not even turning around to look at. The words echo in my head ghost like, stopping me in my tracks, I know there’s something. Then it hits me. I charge forward, grabbing him by his shoulder and spinning him to look at me just before he passes the war table.

“That shadow in the doorway, that was you.” I accuse him. 

“Didn’t want to intrude on you and Sam’s moment.” his voice is passive, his face is trying to smile, but his eyes are hard. 

“So what, you thought Sam and I were gonna run off to town and what? Feed and fuck? Is that really what you think of me?” I’m yelling by the time I stop to breathe. 

“Please, please, tell me there is coffee. If this is how we’re going to start this morning, I  need coffee.” Sam’s sleepy voice has both of us swinging our heads to the side stare. Neither one of us had noticed him. 

I hold my mug out to him, his only option to take it or wear it, as I march past him headed into the library. I dressed this morning like I always do, for running, but now I think I’d like to hit something and that means going back to my room and getting my gloves. I swear I hear one of them call after me but I ignore it, the last conversation I had flip-flopped so bad my head is still trying to wrap around it, last thing I need is  more talking before my brain is even done hydroplaning. I grab my gloves and head back for the stairs before realizing that if I go that way I might run into them, so I turn and go to the training room instead. There’s no treadmill there but I wanta hit something and pretend it’s Dean’s head, so it’s ok, the boxing ring is there so there is bound to be a punching bag  somewhere .

How the hell did we go from my ‘ How did Sam react to us fighting and me learning a new magic power ?’ to his ‘ By all means go have a sexy vacation day with my brother while I sit here and hate myself. ’ anyway? Trying to track it literally made my brain hurt and my eyes want to cross. I even took a wrong turn and had to double back at one point because I was so up in my head about it. By the time I finally reach the training room, where I’m headed, I throw the door open and have to clench my jaw not to scream in frustration, because they’re just sitting there, leaned against the boxing ring and staring at the doorway like they’ve been here the whole time just waiting on me. I don’t know how they do that, and normally I think it’s kinda endearing, but now it’s just annoying.

“What?” I grumble, still tugging my gloves on. Sam quirks an eyebrow at me when he notices.

“We need to talk.” Sam says. Dean just stares at me in an odd way. 

“Nope.” I clip off and make my way over to the punching bag in the corner. 

“Look, we talked and thi-” Sam starts again, but I cut him off spinning around and leveling the coldest glare I could manage.

“No. Stop. You wanta talk about how I just learned how to do something awesome last night? Fine. You wanta talk about a case you just found and we are going to pack up so you two can go deal with it? Fine. You wanta talk about feelings, or awkward situations, or anything in the ballpark of personal? Tough.” I sound as cold as I wanted to, but I’ve never been one to stay mad for long and it’s already fading. 

I walk around and put the punching bag between me and them, and try and conjure up Dean’s face but I can’t. It’s not Dean I’m mad at anymore, it’s me. I’ve been here a few months now, and honestly, the only reason I’m still here is because Sam thinks I help keep Dean from losing to the urges of the Mark. I gave up on the idea of finding out what I really am a long time ago, and think Sam has too by now. 

So yeah, I stay for Dean too. Not because I think he needs me, because he doesn’t, but because I keep thinking maybe if I prove I can take it, he’ll want me. Because holding on too tight to Dean is like riding naked on top of a tank. It’s crazy and exciting, but he’s always going to be either in a war zone or an infirmary. He’ll try and take as much damage for you as he can, cause that's just the way he’s made, but you’re going to get injured regardless, and sometimes it’s accidental friendly fire.

 

Maybe I’m not cut out for war zones after all. I’m not fighter, even though I am getting stronger here learning from them. I’m still just a tag along when I go out hunting with them. The only thing they would suffer for if I left is my cooking and doing the laundry for them. Hell, look at me, hiding behind a punching bag crying as quietly as I can, because I don’t want them to see. Even though I know they’re not going to leave, and I’m not punching this damn bag, and they're going to walk over here any minute. Not even that long, here comes Sam’s shoes now. I’ve got just second to wipe my eyes, suck it up, and…

“Ro? You ok?” He sounds cautious. When he see’s me it’s like someone slapped him. 

“I think it’s time I leave.” I squeak through my tight throat. 

“Yeah. Here, let me walk you.” he holds his arm out, just waiting for me to walk into one of his big bear hugs. But I don’t, and he just looks confused at first, then it starts to dawn on him. And here comes Dean. “You mean leave, for good.” it’s not a question, but I nod anyway.

“What?” Dean says disbelieving, till he rounds Sam and sees my face. Red puffy eyes and all.

“I think it’s time we quit pretending I belong here, I-” I start, but this time Sam cuts me off.

“Of course you belong here. You’re family.” he says firmly, like there's no room for argument. The look on Dean’s face is just shocked, eyes wide and lips moving like he’s thinking of saying something, but he doesn’t. 

“No, I’m a stray. You’ll miss me at first, but you’ll toss all my stuff and forget all about me after awhile.” my voice is finally balancing out again. Some twisted part of me is relieved they look unhappy about my decision, even glad that Dean is speechless, it makes it easier to shut Sam down. “Or you help me find a place and you come visit. I just can’t do the half-assing anymore.” I have to hold up a hand to stop Sam from interrupting me. “I can’t hunt, and I can’t live here with you guys and  not hunt with you. Just let me know your alive once in awhile, okay?” 

Sam looks crushed, Dean just walks away, and true to form both of them have kept tight lids on their emotions. I don’t know whether to be proud or worried, but Sam nods and holds out his arm again. This time I take the hug. It’s a sideways, one arm each, hug and we walk that way to the door and back up stairs. Sam walks me to the library where his laptop is sitting on a table. 

“Well, guess we should start apartment hunting, huh?” he smiles as he drops his arm and pulls out chair for both of us. Dean is nowhere to be seen.

__________________________________________________________________________ **  
**


	20. Ch:20

  
  
  


“You sure you don’t mind?” Sam asks me from the front seat again.

 

“Sam, if you ask me that again I’m going to choke you.” I huff.

 

It's like the fifth time. I don’t know why it bugs him so much, it’s just Crowley, and it’s on the way. Besides, if I have to spend much more time in the car with Dean I might snap and choke him instead. A pit stop would be welcome. Dean’s been quiet and distant the last two day’s it’s taken Sam and I to find me an apartment. He makes sure to keep his emotions on lock down when I’m around, but I’ve gotten close enough times before he noticed me to pick up on the anger and sadness. The anger is standard, the sadness though, it runs deep and I can’t figure out why. Sam has been all ‘kicked-puppy’ about me leaving, but while Dean hasn’t been happy about it he’s been supportive. And almost ridiculously obsessive, threatening twice that he’d rather chain me up in the dungeon then let me live in  that apartment. Once he insisted that he drive out and check the neighborhood before I agree to it. I passed it over instead. I was forbidden to live in Chicago outright. I hadn’t know Dean was searching on his own till he found me, not only a apartment, but a job to go with it. 

 

Well, the apartment came with the job, down somewhere just north of Fort Worth Texas, and that's where we’re headed now. Except for the pit stop to see Crowley, who apparently had information for the guys, but was typically vague. The guys agreed to meet him during the drive, but didn’t tell him where we were going or why. They were meticulous about making sure nothing followed me, or found me, or whatever. I wasn’t allowed to talk about them, or anything relating to them. Any of the hunts I knew about, I wasn’t there nor did I know that that guys were there at that time. It makes me think of witness protection. I think it’s overkill, but if it made them feel better then I agreed. 

Somewhere near the Texas state line is where Dean finally pulled off the road into some abandoned gas station/car garage parking lot. The gas pumps were missing most of their guts, the windows were boarded over, graffiti on the walls. I swear there’s a tumbleweed hanging out on the corner of the building. I guess stereotypes exist for a reason after all. Dean parks along the side of the building out of what little light there is from the moon, then he and Sam get out and walk into the openness of the parking lot, to wait for Crowley I guess. I know I’m supposed to wait in the car, but after about five minute of nothing but my own breathing and fricken crickets I can’t take it anymore.

Dean spins around, gun up, when he hears my door close. I get double ‘bitch face’, and probably an earful if Dean’s phone hadn’t picked that exact moment to ring. Instead he just kinda growls at me and turns to answer his phone, and I take the moment of confusion to jog over before Sam can tell me no. Before I can reach them though Crowley just blinks into existence, literally, stopping me in my tracks. That has got to be the most nerve-wracking thing ever, just having someone pop out of thin air, no noise or anything. Makes me wonder about every time I’ve ever felt watched but no one was there when I looked. 

 

“Crowley.” Dean growls by way of a greeting. Sam says nothing.

 

“Dean. Taking your girlfriend to karaoke night? Haven't done that since your demon days. Why wasn’t I invited?” Crowley sounds mocking. 

 

“Shut up, Crowley. What did you want?” Dean already sounds annoyed.

 

The sound of growling draws my attention away from Dean shooting daggers out his eyes at Crowley while he runs at the mouth. Some part of my brain is keeping up with the conversation, it’s full of little tidbits of very interesting stuff. Under different circumstances I’d be enthralled by the fact that apparently Dean had gone on vacation with Crowley! But I’m sure as hell not going to ask about it here. Not that I care overly much, Dean is obviously not a demon anymore, but it does sound like one awesome ass story, and I wanna hear it. Now that I hear the growling though, it’s my sole focus. it’s a deep, feel it in your bones, kind of growl, I just can’t quite figure out where it’s coming from.

 

Then the biggest, freakiest looking dog I’ve ever seen comes walking out from around the corner of the run-down, abandoned car garage we’re standing in the parking lot of. At least I think it's a dog. Might be a small bear, but it walks and growls like a dog, and has no skin or fur for me to judge from. Just a Grizzly/Rottweiler hybrid with all of its bone and muscle and sinew exposed to the night air, oozing a black and wispy kind of smoke. 

 

“You brought Hellhounds, Crowley?” Dean shouts. I guess he can hear the growling sounds too, but for some reason he keeps looking around like he can’t see it. Sam too, his eyes skimming right over it as it slinks its way over to stand just behind and to the side of Crowley. 

 

“For my protection, only. You boys can’t seem to be trusted anymore. Despite all the things we’ve done together.” Crowley practically huffs. 

 

My curiosity gets the better of me and I can’t seem to stop myself. 

 

“So that's a Hellhound?” I ask, walking closer with my hand out, like you would do for any dog. When in doubt, go with what you know, right? It just cocks its head and almost seems to stretch towards me.

 

“Wait, you can see it?” Dean asks at the same time Crowley says, “I wouldn’t do that, Pet.”

 

I stop in my tracks. Crowley actually sounds worried for me and when a dog's owner tells you that you shouldn’t pet the puppy, you don't pet the puppy. He just glares at me for a minute and I plaster on an apologetic smile, then he eyes the hound like he’s annoyed at it for something. Dean though, he’s looking at me like I’ve started growing antenna. Sam, being Sam, is the first one to start asking the important questions.

 

“How can she see it? I thought only the people whose souls they are collecting can see them.”

 

“I don’t know, but I’d like to.” Crowley answers, but he’s eyeing me again. 

 

Only this time he’s looking at me like I’m a giant diamond in a museum and he’s a bored thief. He even slides his eyes quickly at Dean, like he’s the museum's security guard, trying to gage Dean’s reaction. Dean though, he’s not having it, he reaches out and snags me by the arm and tugs me closer to him. In case Crowley decides he want to take me home and put on his lab coat probably, and considering he’s the King of Hell and won’t be near as nice about it as Sam was, I’m ok with it. The Hellhound however, didn’t seem to appreciate the sudden movement.

 

Before, when it had just been lightly growling and taking up guard position behind Crowley, it hadn’t seemed all that bad. Just a big, kinda ugly, dog. But, in the seconds after Dean pulled me to him, the shift was instant and undeniable. This was a beast, vicious and monstrous, it’s lips pulled back in an open mouthed snarl. It’s paws, flexing to get purchase to lunge, left claw marks in the concrete. The eyes were the kicker though, glowing like bioluminescent blood, and before I could react Dean’s shoving me behind him. The hound leaps, and Dean shoves me away, Sam shouts and bolts for the impala, and Crowley just stands there looking slightly confused. Then Dean is on the ground, his arm blocking the hound even though he can't see it, and the hounds claws digging gashes into Dean’s chest. And all I can do is scream.

 

“No! Get off of him!”

 

I’d expected my voice to be high and girly, to sound like I felt, panicked and on the verge of fainting. Instead it was hard and commanding and I’m not sure who was caught more off guard of us all, because  no one had seen that coming. Even the hound had stopped attacking Dean and was looking at me, leaving Dean to shoot me a curious look, and now that I had it’s attention the only thing I could think to do was to see how far my fabricated authority would go.

 

“Get off.” I threw every bit of influence I could muster, and even a little growl of my own, into the words. Making my eyes hard as I glared at the hound, snapped my fingers, and pointed at the ground at my feet. 

 

“How the bloody hell?”, “What the…” 

 

Crowley and Sam spoke over each other as the hound adjusted it’s weight and stepped off of Dean like he was a lumpy rug, leaving him to cough and drag in a wet, ragged breath. It just padded over to me and laid down in front of my feet. Somewhere deep down inside I felt like a switch had flipped. Like when I’d woken up in the hospital and had know some stuff but not others. Like I’d known how to work an iPhone but I didn’t know what year it was. I knew how to read and write, but I didn’t know my own name, I could drive but couldn’t remember how old I was. And now, once again, I just knew things.

  
  


I could command this creature and it would never balk or question, it had recognized me from the start and had reacted to protect me from Dean, and it was no longer an ugly creature to me.  He , how I know that I don’t know, still looks the exact same, but I understand and appreciate his appearance, that's just how he is and it serves a purpose. Just like I know that he is lethal, ruthless, and unquestioningly loyal. Why? No clue, but he would take any order I gave. Except attack Crowley, maybe. 

 

Dean’s hiss of pain brings me back to reality, and I know it’s only been a few seconds that I’ve been spaced out and in my own head, but those are seconds that Dean’s been in pain. Even Sam hasn’t moved to his brothers side yet, but that doesn’t matter to my guilt. I bend down and pat the Hellhound on his head, mumbling a ‘stay’ as I move around him to get to Dean. I help Dean sit up and shrug out of his tattered over shirt so I can hold it to his gashed chest to help stop the bleeding. I look around for Crowley once Sam shows up with the first aid kit out of the trunk, to see if he’s going to help or not, but he’s gone. Of course. Except he’s not, cause his hand is on my shoulder, and the hellhound is on it’s feet. My vision blurs and suddenly the air is so hot it burns in my chest, and I’m so dizzy, and I fall to the ground and hit my head, and that's all folks.

 

__________________________________________________________________________

 


	21. Ch:21

 

My shoulders are on fire, feeling like they're being pulled out of the sockets, I can't feel my fingers, and my neck is so stiff  thinking about moving it hurts. Once I can get an eye open and orient myself I know why. I’m hanging from the ceiling this time, my wrists shackled to chains mounted to the roof, my toes not touching the floor. Well at least it beat the chair with the spikes, that I’d been strapped to when I’d passed out. Although so far the giant water tank before that was my favorite. Turns out all those hours on the treadmill also translated to hours of treading water. I could join the Coast Guard now. Of course the demon Crowley left in charge was less amused. He got downright pissy when I just wouldn’t drown.

 

“Oh good, you're awake.” Crowley’s accented voice sounding so low and growly it’s almost a purr. He walks up and stands in front of me, reaching out and tilting my chin up to look at him. “I feel the need to warn you,” his hand drops from my face to the top button of my shirt, “this is only going to get less and less pleasant the longer you hold out on me.” 

 

He starts unbuttoning my shirt. My shirt falls open after the last button, and not that I’m shy or anything, but the idea of being naked and at the whims of the King of Hell does not sound like my kind of party. The feel of his fingers traveling across the skin of my ribs send cold shivers down my spine, and I hope like hell he doesn’t get any ideas. Then again, he already had ideas when he got here, I just have to wait and see what they are. His hand snakes up to the clasp of my bra and I can’t stop the hiss when he pops it loose. Fortunately, and mostly because of the way the straps hung up on my shoulders, the bra didn’t fall away enough to expose anything. It left me feeling exposed though, and an uncomfortable Ro is a stupid Ro.

 

“You know Crowley, if this is how you treat all your girlfriends then it’s no wonder you’re so sexually frustrated.” I taunt. 

 

“Oh, Darling, this is still just the foreplay.” he smiles at me. “I know you’re wearing thin. Whatever keeps you powered up, you’re not getting it here.” His hand slides down my torso and around the hem of my jeans along my hip till he reaches the button in front. “I could make arrangements for you, to get what you need, you just have to tell me what, exactly, that is.” he offers as he starts to crowd my space.

 

“Bite me Crowley.” I choke out. He’s right about one thing, I am flagging. 

 

The water tank had been the least tortuous but the most exhausting, before that had been the standard outright beating. During my time spent in the spiked chair my self-healing started to taper off. It had been a long week, or at least it felt like a week. And if demon’s had emotions they were real good at keeping them under wraps. I’d even tried concentrating on any demon that came around, but I couldn’t get any kind of emotional reading let alone feed.

 

“Careful, Pet, you don’t want to tempt me” he continues to purr before one of the fingers of the other hand he’s been trailing across my ribs sinks into one of the spike holes in my back. 

 

I don’t have the energy left to scream, and the hand resting just under my belly button keeps me from swaying too much when I jerk at the pain, but the sharp gasp and whining groan seemed to bring a smile to Crowley’s face anyway. Finally he takes the finger back and eyes the blood on his hand, leaving me gasping for breath and trying to stop the tremors wracking my body.  With a wolfish grin he licks one of his fingers clean of my blood. His eyes go wide and I just don’t have the energy to decipher the look he gets on his face past the thought of ‘that can’t be good’. 

 

“Well, well. You are full of surprises.” he says, and I swear I can see a twinkle in his eye. 

 

Or I might just be delusional, I hear that likes to tag along with intense pain and blood loss. I watch him turn and walk out of the room still eyeing the blood on his hand.  My blood. How the hell do normal people deal with wounds that stay open this long? The insult to my injury being him leaving me here, strung up from the ceiling, shirt laid open, and bleeding from at least a dozen holes is my back.

 

I have a whole new respect for the brothers. I know they're not coming for me, and even if they are I’m not going to last that long. I’m pretty sure I’ve stopped healing all together now, and the pain has taken up residence in my bones. I honestly can’t believe I’ve lasted this long. I can feel what little strength I have waning, drawing me back to unconsciousness again, and I know this won’t be the last time my eyes open, but the next time might be. Still though, I’m no quitter, so I had best get all the rest I can get. I’m gonna need it.

 

__________________________________________________________________________

 

“This is a bad idea, Sam.” Castiel grumbles as the sounds of screaming peak again. 

 

Sam is just staring at the door like he can see through it into the room beyond. If he can, Castiel does not envy him for it. On the other side of that door is the dungeon of the bunker, and in that dungeon is a demon, and right now Castiel is not sure whether the demon is the real monster in that room. He has destroyed the door into this room once before to stop Dean. Although that was to save Dean’s victim, not to save Dean. It may not be possible to save Dean now.

 

“You want to try stopping him, Cas? Cause I don’t think I can.” Sam pauses, releasing a sorrowful sigh. “I’m not sure I even, really, want to.”

 

“Is she really worth losing your brother?” Castiel asks. “You don’t even know what she is. She might belong in Hell.” 

 

“She’s family Cas!” Sam snaps. “She lived here with us, fed us, hunted with us, took care of us when we were hurt.”

 

Another gut clenching shriek issues from the other side of the door, cutting off whatever else Sam might have going to say, followed by a loud crashing sound. Sam lunges for the door, throwing it open, and rushes inside calling after Dean. Castiel follows close behind not sure what to expect. The second half of the room, beyond the files and shelves, is covered in blood. It pools on the floor under the chair, an actual piece of skin is stuck to the wall on the right, and more than a few teeth are scattered around the floor. The demon is dead in the chair, mutilated, and Dean is holding himself up on the rolling tray that was holding the various things he’d been using to torture it. He looks defeated and exhausted, arms stiff and head hanging off his shoulders, breaths fast and harsh like he’s been running, body trembling, but he’s still standing.

 

“Dean?” Sam’s voice is soft, like he’s afraid to startle his brother.

 

When Dean lifts his head Castiel’s taken aback by what he sees. Even Sam sucks in a surprised breath. What Castiel had mistaken for the signs of exhaustion were in fact Dean’s repressed laughter. The breaths, the shaking, him supporting himself, it had all been because he was trying not to laugh. His eyes are are wild and the smile on his face is terrifying. Castiel now understands the term ‘face of madness’. 

 

“She’s not in Hell, she’s in Florida.” Dean half chuckles through his insane grin. 

 

“Are you sure?” Sam asks. 

 

He’s not even looking at the carnage Dean has splattered all over, and Castiel spares a thought for how many truly gruesome things these two brothers have witnessed, that they can stand here and be unphased. Granted they have both been to Hell themselves, Dean spent an entire year in purgatory, but even still they are rarely so accepting of this level of butchery.

 

“Yeah.” Dean chuckles. “I’m sure.” There's a manic glint to his eye. “Let’s ride.”

  
__________________________________________________________________________


	22. Ch:22

 

This time when I wake up I’m looking at a ceiling. I can’t tell if or how I’m restrained, mostly because it hurt too much to really be worth the effort to try, but I am flat on my back. At least there are no spikes. I can tell my head is tied down, I can’t move it to look around. Fortunately Crowley doesn’t expect me to look at him, he comes to me instead, wearing an apron. That can’t be good. He doesn’t strike me as the baking kind. Unless he’s baking me. Yay for full body shivers! Not.

 

“Excited to see me, Pet?” he asks.

 

“Only if you’re here to let me go.” my voice is raspy. Even my sarcasm is failing.

 

“Oh, Darling, no. But there is good news. I’ve learned a few things in the couple of days you’ve refused to wake up.” Wait, couple of  days ? “You are a tricky little abomination. I’d kill to learn how she made you.” He stops to flash me what I’m sure is supposed to a triumphant smile. “I’m not even sure there’s a name for what you are, my little hybrid.” he says that like he expects my brain to work it out.

 

“What?” I sound dumb, even to my own ears. His smile fades.

 

I hear a couple of metal clicks and my head is free to move again. A few more and I can feel blood rush back into my hands, then my feet. Crowley helps me sit up and I swing my legs over the edge of the table I’m sitting on. The vertigo hits and I almost collapse back to the table. I groan and Crowley tsk’s, then snaps his fingers, and the door bangs open and another man walks in holding a woman by the arm. I would say she looks in worse shape than me, but I’m in pretty bad shape and at least she doesn’t have holes in her back, but he has to practically drag her into the room. She’s disoriented and emitting a rainbow of emotion like a beacon. 

 

Crowley looks at the man and gestures at me and the guy just throws her at me. I don’t know if it’s my need to feed or just a natural reaction but I catch her as she falls against me and the table. Either way the end result is the same, I touch her and can’t stop myself from absorbing every ounce of emotion she’s pumping out. She must be drugged out of her mind because there is no normal reason for an otherwise normal person to have this kind of mix of emotion at this high of a level. Anxiety, lust, just a little fear, and a whole bunch of euphoria. 

 

It soaks into my skin and I go all tingly as my body immediately starts using the energy to heal itself. It’s the best feeling I’ve felt in what feels like forever. The holes in my back and the backs of my thighs knitting up, the fog clearing from my mind. I hadn’t noticed just how loose my skin had felt till it didn’t anymore. Soon the headache would be gone, the aches and muscle kinks. Except then it all just stops, and I groan at the loss. Then the girl slips from my arms to the floor like a limp noodle. My eyes, that I hadn’t realized I’d closed, flew open. She’s ashen and breathing shallow, out cold, and Crowley is chuckling as he takes the apron off and tosses it against the wall.

 

“Well, Pet, feeling better?” Crowley coos. 

 

“The  fuck , Crowley? I could have  killed her!” I yell, dropping to the floor to check on the woman I’d just drained.

 

“No worries, she’ll live.” he gestures again to the other man who walks over and takes the unconscious woman and walks away with her over his shoulder. He walks back out the door which closes behind him without any help. 

 

“What’s your play now, Crowley, torture not working out for you? So now you’re just going to use me to suck the souls out of people?” I snap, laying on the sarcasm thick.

 

“Is  that what you did to her?” he raises his eyebrows and eyes the door. “Curious.”

 

“You didn’t know?” I question.

 

“That you sucked souls? No. Makes sense though con-” 

 

“I do  not eat souls!” I bark out. He holds up his hands in an ‘I surrender’ gesture.

 

“My bad.” The hands go down and his face goes back to business. “So what did you do to her?”

 

“Fuck you.” but my voice drops, like my eyes, in guilt. 

 

“Ah. Well that's interesting.” he says before sticking his elbow out to me. “What say we go somewhere more comfortable?” he gives me his best smile. “I have a proposition for you, Darling.”

 

He just expects me to take his arm and let him escort me somewhere, probably to my next torture room, and forget this whole screwed up situation is his fault? He’s hit his head, has to have. I should be making a new life for myself in Texas right now, now dealing with his craziness. My suspicion must have show on my face.

 

“I realize a few apologies are in order, and maybe another snack? But before you get your pretty little feathers all ruffled let me make my case?” he says. 

 

It sounds like a request, but feels like a demand. I almost tell him to fuck off, but then I remember where I am. Don’t really have much choice do I? So I loop my arm through his and let him lead me out the door, it opening and closing by itself, and have to wonder if he’s showing off. Once through the door we turn immediately to the right and walk into another room, or world, which is like going from night to day. This room is plush. Wood accents and trim, blue and black striped wallpaper, fireplace, leather furniture. The works. Crowley drops me off at the leather couch in front of the fireplace before walking to a table with glass decanters full of liquors. 

 

“What’s your poison?” he tries to be suave. 

 

“Angry Orchard?” I question. This earns me another curious look. “Apple cider beer.” I elaborate, “No? Ok then, Southern Comfort on ice?” 

 

That gets me a smirk but he grabs a second glass tumbler and ice. Once he’s got a drink in each hand he passes me one and parks himself in the chair next to the couch. I sip my So-Co and wait for him to speak first. I don’t have to wait long.

 

“You really don’t know what you are do you?” I just quirk my eyebrow. “Did Moose and Squirrel tell you about the thorn in my side that was Abaddon?” They had, so I nod. “Well, in her failed attempt to wrest my throne from me, she experimented with the power of raw souls. You seem to be one of those experiments.” he explains. Sorta. 

 

It’s enough to get my heart racing but doesn’t really tell me anything. Abaddon was a bad bitch, a Knight of Hell, but I don’t understand anything about raw souls or how you would experiment with one. What does that have to do with me?

 

“What the hell does that mean, Crowley? Are you always this annoyingly cryptic?” I gripe. 

 

A hushed snicker sounds from the door, where a demon I hadn’t seen follow us in is standing guard. His face is placid, but I know what I heard, and Crowley heard it too. I can practically see him bristle, but he carries on like it’s nothing.

 

“What I mean is, you, Darling, are the product of an angel’s stolen grace and Abaddon’s own blood. Two otherwise incompatible forces bonded through the neutrality of a raw human soul, and sealed together with witchcraft.” he clarifies, with an air of nonchalance and a sip of his drink. Like it’s no big deal he just explained that I’m the existential equivalent of Frankenstein's Monster.

 

To say I’m torn is the understatement of all understatements ever made in the history of the universe. Part of me is ecstatic that I finally know what I am, part is horrified at it. The implications alone are mind blowing. How? Why? What am I truly capable of? I know it all now and still know nothing! Am I good? Evil? How can you be both? Part angel, part demon, one hundred percent amalgamation, and completely lost in a panic attack. I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t function. I would scream but there’s no air. 

 

I don’t even realize I’m on the brink of falling off the far end of the couch till Crowley slaps me hard enough to rock my entire upper body. I’m perched on the arm of the couch with my knees drawn up to my chest, the only thing keeping me from falling backwards and onto the floor is Crowley's grip on my arm. There’s a weird keening sound coming from somewhere, and my face is wet. I think it might be blood, but my hand comes away clear so that means its tears. I’m crying, hyperventilating, and Crowley is trying to talk to me. He’s making soft crooning sounds and telling me I’m ok, I’m no different then I was five minutes ago. He’s actually trying to comfort me, and you know what? I’ll take it.

 

I practically tackle him. Wrapping my arms around his middle in a bear hug, burying my face in his chest and crying my eyes out. I hear him send his minions away before he goes back to cooing and shushing me. Oh God, does this mean I’m a minion now? Do I have powers? A minion for who? The King of Hell, who I’m currently using as a life-size teddy bear, or God? No wait, God is MIA. So who then, Heaven in general? A sharp pain in my diaphragm makes me jerk in Crowley’s arms, startling us both. Great, now I have the fucking  hiccups ? And every time I hiccup that damn noise stops. Oh God, I’m making that noise, that's been me this whole time! I grab two handfuls of Crowley’s jacket, pull them to my mouth, and  scream .

 

__________________________________________________________________________

 


	23. Ch:23

A crackling noise wakes me up. Like crinkling wrapping paper, or a fire place.  Fireplace. I bolt upright. I’m still in the same room, on the couch in front of the fireplace, except now I’m alone. No Crowley, no minions. Just me and my brain. Nope. I jump up off the couch, or at least I try, but I’m still really drained and my legs threaten to drop me on the floor. I manage to stay upright, after a few wobbly moments, and head for the door. Leaning against the wall of the other side of the hallway is a demon. White kid, late teens, like seventeen tops, short hair, dressed in a tight T-shirt and loose fit jeans. He stands up straight when he sees me.

“Hey, you're awake.” he smiles. “Boss man said to get you anything you need, especially if you're hungry.” he says ‘hungry’ almost like a question. Guess Crowley didn’t tell him what I eat. 

“Um, where is Crowley?” I ask. 

“Business.” he deadpans. Not getting anywhere on that front. 

“Where are we?” I try instead.

“Don’t think I’m supposed to tell you that.” he gives me a look like I should know better than to ask these questions.

“Well what I eat isn’t exactly something you can get as take-out.”

“Try me.” he says with just a hint of pride. I kind of like this kid.

“Emotion, lots of it, preferably  not   angry.” I challenge him.

“I’ll be back in five.” he says, after thinking a moment. 

He gestures for me to go back into the room I just came from, and once I do I hear it slam closed behind me a solid ‘thunk’. Sure enough the little shit has locked me in, the door won’t budge an inch. I’m not sure how long I pace a path in the carpet behind the couch before  I hear the sound of the lock sliding again. Teenage Demon Boy walks two women into the room in front of him, both stumbling and giggly, dressed for clubbing, and high as kites. Once inside the room he kicks the door closed behind him and pulls both women close enough to whisper in their ears. They run at me screaming as soon as he lets them go. Crazed-fan screams. They nearly bowl me over when they get to me, and I don’t have to worry about touching them or syphoning loose energy, they are touching me. I can’t focus on what their saying, I’m too distracted by the feeling of my back and legs completely healing, but I get the gist that they seem to think I’m some kind of celebrity and I want to take them with me to something. It’s happy excited emotion and it’s a relief, I’d been sure he’d come up with something darker like fear. I only take what I need, the memory of that last woman still fresh in my mind, before I push them away and back towards the demon. At least I’m healed, that's the important part.

“He’s gonna take you ladies somewhere nice to work out the details.” I smile as I push them towards him, emphasizing ‘nice’ and eyeing him, in the hopes they would see the free world again.

“Crowley will be with you as soon as he’s able.” Demon Boy says, smiling and retaking possession of the women. 

Then their all gone and I’m waiting again, pacing behind the couch and pulling at knotted strings of thought in my head again. Things like: If i’m part angel, does that make me related to Castiel? Like he’s some kind of estranged brother or uncle or something? Would being part angel cancel out being part demon to the brothers? Will they even care that Crowley kidnapped me after they find out? Upside, at least I already had plans to move out. Maybe their not looking for me. Maybe I was on my way out and they just.. No. I know them better than that. They would at least look long enough to find out if I was dead. Crowley had kicked a bee’s nest named Winchester, and he’d better have a fogger. I was busy giggling at the idea of Sam and Dean in yellow and black stripes with costume bee’s wings buzzing around the bunker when the door opened and Crowley came striding in.

“Feeling better, Pet?” he asks grinning.

“Much.” I lie quickly. “Do the guys know where I am?” I cut to the chase. His face falls.

“Not so much.” he drifts over to the chair he’d been sitting in last time.

“You know they're going to be pissed right? You snatched me right out from under their noses. Tortured me for, how long, exactly?” my voice drifts from accusation to question. 

“I have a more important question for you.” he waits for me to answer. I wait him out. “Fine, don’t play along. Two weeks.” I finally answers me.

“That's it? Two weeks?” I forget to hide my surprise. He chuckles.

“Had to do something. Punish you for going off the radar.” he pauses and I can only imagine what my face looks like. I’m having a hard time telling which is going to win out, my confusion or my anger. “Look, Pet, I may have mentioned I have a proposition for you. Care to hear me out?” 

I answer by plopping backward onto the couch, childish of me in hindsight, with my arms crossed and glaring at him. I’m pretty sure I restrained the pout on my face but I’m not completely sure. Especially after he just smiles charmingly at me. 

“You are, in part at least, a Knight of Hell. I want to give you a job.” his tone is slightly hopeful, and his body language might as well read ‘corpse’, but I can tell my answer means a lot to him.

“What kind of a job?” I asks carefully.

“Honestly, I have no idea what you're capable of, hence the torture. Well, that, and because if I’m going to introduce you as my new Knight then I had to put you in your place for going off the reservation.” Now it starts to make sense. “I have a bit of dissention in the ranks, and having a Knight back on the payroll and firmly under my thumb would do wonders for returning some stability to my little kingdom.”

There it is, laid out nice and pretty. Crowley wants to use me as a kind of scare tactic. Strike fear into the little black hearts of ‘lesser’ demons everywhere, knock them back into line. How though, as far as I know I’ve got nothing to scare demons, I’m not exactly terrifying. I suck the emotion out of people, but demons don’t have emotion’s as far as I can tell. I heal people, I think, sorta. I shoot pretty good, according to Dean anyway, but what are bullets to demons?

“Well, unless the title alone is going to get the job done, I don’t think I can be of much help. I’ve got no fighting skills to speak of, no super powers, nothing to scare your masses back into shape.” I tell him.

“Sure you do.” he says, completely confident. I just stare at him, waiting for the punch line. “You’ve got grace. Smite a few!” he finally starts to lose his temper.

“Smite? What the hell are you talking about, Crowley?” I ask honestly. 

Now it's him who looks torn between confusion and anger. He jumps up and stalks over to me before I can really react and jabs me in the forehead with two fingers. Images flash through my mind, sensations I’ve never felt before flood through me, sounds, words, runes. Interactions with Sam, Dean, Castiel, and dozens more that I’ve heard about but never met. Stories I know from Sam, told through Crowley’s memories, flash behind my eyelids. Castiel’s hand on a demon's head, light pouring out from every orifice. The true faces of demons behind the flesh of the people they wear, the sight of the semi-transparent wings of angels. The sensation of sharing Sam’s body with an angel, sitting strapped to a chair while Sam injected him with blood. Crowley has feelings!  Still ! How to read enochian, what enochian is. Instant knowledge of runes, sigils, and some magic spells. When it’s all over I’m laying flat out on the couch with Crowley handing me a handkerchief. I figure out why when I sit up and I feel the blood dribble over my lips.

“What the  fuck,  did you just do to me, Crowley?” I practically scream at him. 

My head hurts, still sorting through everything that just got dumped into it, and I can  feel the twitch every time something new makes it’s way across the front of my mind. Its bizarre, to  know all this information is new, and know it isn’t mine. Even though it feels like it is. Like vividly remembering a blackout, times a hundred thousand or so.

He doesn’t answer me. He just smiles and walks over to the little table with the booze. He’s waiting for me to quit twitching, for the download to finish installing. Things I can’t even..., there aren't words. Not in english anyway. Now enochian? There’s a language! Hard and simple and endlessly complicated and beautiful. I’ll never be able to possess someone, I can’t manipulate my essence in the way that's needed. Still not sure  how to ‘smite’, but I get the reference. Apparently I don’t get wings, I’m only a halfie after all, but I might be able to do that teleporting thing, which would be cool. Gonna have to test that out later. 

More importantly, I now know what Crowley has planned for Hell. The grand scheme of it all, how far it has fallen, and how he plans to get things back to the way they are  supposed to be. Hell is broken, festering. Not what it was meant to be. Crowley actually wants to fix it. Repair the ranks, go back to harvesting souls by the quality and not the quantity. It’ll take a long damn time to make Hell back into the place of punishment for the wicked that it’s meant to be, a repository for evil and nastiness, instead of the mad free-for-all for power and comfort that it is now, but he’s in for the long haul. If he can keep his throne.

“So, about my offer.” he asks, handing me a drink. 

__________________________________________________________________________


End file.
